The Dark Mark
by SwordofRohan
Summary: Over 40 years after the Battle at The Lonely Mountain, Kíli still struggles with the ghosts of the past. New dangers and old enemies draw Erebor's Prince into a web of intrigues and perils. Will he be able to stand strong and fight for Erebor once more? Au, of course. Kili, Fili, Tauriel, Gandalf, Dis, Dwalin, few OCs. Kiliel, sort of. And some brotherly feelings.
1. chapter 1

**Author's note:**

The extended version of BOTFA didn't help, I'm still in denial. So I hammered out an AU story that had been haunting me for some time. The setting is roughly 2987, over forty years after the Battle and shortly before Balin leaves for Moria.

The story is finished (more or less), I am currently editing, re-writing and having fun with it. Although it turned out to be much darker than I intended.

New chapters will be added regularly, please comment and make me want to do this!

It's not the first fanfic I've written, but the first I wanted to share.

The cover is created by UnicatStudio and fits as if she had this story in mind. Check out her amazing work at DeviantArt.

 **And now: Enjoy!**

Sword

* * *

 **Encountering difficulties**

„No." Fíli, King of Erebor, said, not even looking up from his paperwork.

„Why not?"

„You know why. I am not convinced it is a good idea. Besides, I need you here."

„Balin worked everything out. He wouldn't gather followers if he didn't believe his quest would be a success."

„I know." Fíli sighed, putting his pen aside but still not looking up to meet Kíli's glowering stare. „Why do you think Dáin never went back? He made it inside the mountain at the battle of Azanulbizar. He reported Khazad-dûm was swarming with orcs and goblins. Dangerous creatures from Gundabad and Nogrod, and they had centuries to get settled. They will know each and every cavern and tunnel. They will trap you. You know the likes of them, you've fought them."

 _Nearly were killed by them. Let them slay your uncle and king._

The words were pounding in Kíli's head, and he lowered his gaze.

Still he wouldn't give in.

„Balin has gathered a hundred stout warriors. We can take on those orcs and goblins. Drive them out of the mountain. Reclaim what is ours."

Fíli shook his head.

„Durin's Bane still lingers in the depth of Khazad-dûm. It is lost to us, and every dwarf who tries to reclaim it will be lost too."

„Yet you let them go."

Fíli took up his quill again, the feather quivering ever so slightly.

„I cannot forbid them to go." He corrected, quill hovering about the ink pot. „They are free dwarrows and if they choose to leave Erebor there is nothing I can do."

„Many of our soldiers chose to join."

Fíli sighed again. „Against their King's wish. But they left the Royal Service to join the quest. They are not Erebor's subjects any longer."

„Yet you supply them with weapons and ponies."

„If I cannot make them stay I will equip them as best as I can."

„I am the best archer. Their chances will improve if I join them. Balin would like me to command the soldiers."

„Of course he would. But you are not going."

„Is this an order?"

For the first time Fíli looked up. His blue eyes were hard and cold like ice. He looked so much like Thorin that Kíli had to swallow hard.

„Yes, it is. You are Royal Advisor, right hand to the King, Captain of the Forces. You will stay in Erebor at the King's command."

Fíli resumed signing his papers.

Kíli remained in front of the mighty oak desk, rays of sun fell through the slots in marble wall of the King's Study. The hall was impressive with a big fireplace, a table displaying maps of Erebor's mines and surroundings, big leather chairs and shelves full of old leather bound books. Intricate carvings reflected the sun and the shine of the burning fire, fine veins of silver and gold were shimmering in the columns. Fíli did most of his paper work here, he liked to have some space and time apart from his councillors who would forever pester him with his duties and their not always welcomed advice. And, Kíli reflected, his gaze lingering on the little wooden sword and shield under the King's table, Fíli could have his little ones playing at his feet while he had to read all those boring reports.

„You may leave," Fíli said matter-of-factly.

Kíli swallowed again, feeling the stab in his heart. He nodded and turned, half expecting Fíli to offer soothing words before he opened the door. But all he heard was the scraping of quill on parchment.

What did he expect?

It wasn't the first time they had argued about reclaiming Khazad-dûm. _Haven't you seen enough blood?_ His brother had asked. _Haven't you seen enough death?_

Yes, he had. If he would never have to pick up his sword again he would be glad. But there was a depth to pay. He could not retrieve Thorin Oakenshield from the Halls of the Waiting. But he could fight for the uncle who had cared for him like a father, taught and trained him to be the prince he now was. The uncle he had failed so miserably on the battlefield.

Like Balin, he felt it was their duty to reclaim Khazad-dûm. Azog was slain, Bolg was dead, the battlefield had been soaked with black blood. What was left of orc forces the hardened warriors would be able to take on.

Balin even wagered Durin's Bane had returned to its eternal sleep deep inside the mountain. The Balrog hadn't been heard of for over a century.

Kíli didn't share Balin's optimism. Forty years ago he had set out on a quest that had involved a dragon. Smaug hadn't shown itself for centuries either. There had even been rumour of the dragon's death. But he himself had seen Smaug fly high above Esgaroth and bring death and ruin to the people of the Lake. He still dreamt of dragon fire sometimes, of that terrible voice conquering his head, the voice that promised to boil Durin's blood, to burn their flesh off their bones, he saw houses going up in flames, men burning like living torches. No, Kíli didn't believe Durin's Bane was gone. But he would march upon Khazad-dûm nonetheless.

Kíli was no fool. He knew very well that he could die. As he should have all those years ago on top of Ravenhill. Mahal, he had been as good as dead. Sliced open like a Durin's Day boar. Side pierced by a goblin arrow, shoulder smashed by an orc's mace. He had been buried under a dead warg and would have died within the hour, crushed and hidden by that filthy big creature spilling its guts all over him. Hadn't Tauriel searched for him. Rescued him. Threatened elven healers with her daggers at their throats to treat him, to keep him alive.

He had never truly forgiven her.

He knew it was preposterous. He knew he had been blessed to have a guardian like her. He was grateful to be alive even when it came with gruesome scars, a limp and an arm that rebelled against the use of a bow with sharp pain. He counted himself lucky to have survived while so many others had perished.

But. Some part still felt that the elf should have left him on the battlefield to die. Some part of him could not forgive her for meddling with what he believed had been his fate. She had robbed him of his only chance to fulfil the oath he had taken, to defend his uncle, his king, with shield and body to his last breath.

Kíli sighed. All those years hadn't cured these absurd feelings of guilt. His death would have made no difference. It only would have saddened his brother even more.

Walking through the fine carved corridors decorated with rich tapestries, illuminated by torches and glittering gems embedded in Erebor's precious stone, he felt the overwhelming need to breathe fresh air. To escape the mountain that had cost him so much.

Instead of meeting Balin as he had promised, Kíli went straight to the stables and saddled Ari.

„You don't intend riding out on your own, do you?"

Katla appeared at his side, grinning.

„You are not my body guard."

„Dwalin thinks I should be. You are the Prince, you need a guard."

„I can watch out for myself."

„I know. Still. Let me ride with you. Do you mind my company?"

He rolled his eyes, knowing she would pester him forever if he didn't give in.

„Alright then. But I am not in the mood for talking, it will be boring."

„With you it's never boing."

As his childhood friend, Katla knew of dangerous cave-tours and tree-climbing, of trailing after men and orcs, breaking through frozen lakes and trying to ride Thorin's pony without saddle or bridle.

„Nicest thing you've said to me since I asked you to go with me to Midsummer's Dance fifty years ago."

The Archer Master frowned. „Didn't I tell you to bugger off and grow a beard first?"

He flashed her a smile. „Exactly what I did. Guess you owe me a dance."

„There a still bets running whether this is a beard or just smut. Highest wages are on smut."

He ran his fingers over his stubbly chin. „This is a very fine beard."

„Of course it is." She winked and scratched her own impressively bearded chin.

Kíli harrumphed and mounted his stallion.

They rode in silence for a while until Katla finally spoke up.

„We have some promising new cadets."

„Good to hear. Put them with the ponies as soon as possible. We need that cavalry."

„Do you really want to supply the riders with those special bows you told me about?"

„Aye. The new design will improve our archers' performance on horseback. Berenor is confident he will have fifty bows ready at the next full moon."

„The elf? You have them crafted at the Woodland Realm? What about the weapon smiths of Erebor?"

„They lack experience. Berenor has been an archer for centuries."

„Putting an elf over a dwarf. You will make some enemies with that decision."

He shrugged. „I will get excellent weapons, that's all what counts."

„For Khazad-dûm?"

He nodded. „Balin and Dwoss reckon the number of orcs inside the mines has shrunken considerably after the Battle. They are willing to take the chance. So am I."

„Who else could lay claim on one of the oldest dwarven kingdoms than Durin's blood?" She acknowledged. „Who else could be crowned king of Khazad-dûm but you?"

He shook his head. „I am no king."

"You should be."

Just as he was opening his mouth to answer, a shrill shriek cut through the quiet. They exchanged a telling glance when more voices echoed through the silence.

„Orcs!"

They turned their ponies and raced back, but the shrieks were now approaching from the side as well.

„To the forest!" Katla shouted. „We can lose them in the pine grove and make it to the main road! They won't follow us into the realm!"

Kíli looked over his shoulder, and saw warg riders closing in on them. He let the reins drop and readied his bow but just as he was about to shoot his arrow, Ari whinnied in pain and stumbled. The last thing Kíli saw as his stallion went down in full gallop was the black arrow that had pierced the pony's neck.


	2. chapter 2

**II. Captive**

Someone touched his forehead, light, soothing, comforting.

„Tauriel," he said softly.

The fingers withdrew. „Katla."

„Huh?"

„Katla. Do you remember me? From Ered Luin."

„Course I do." His voice was blurred. His brain tried to puzzle together the pieces. Katla from Ered Luin. Of course.

„Don't tell Thorin," he mumbled.

„What?" Katla sounded shocked.

„Don't know. Can't remember. But don't tell him, right?" He must have got himself into trouble again, he figured. Aching brain, numb body, a strangely fogged memory of riding a pony.

„Fee?"

„Your brother is not here. He's in Erebor. You do remember Erebor, don't you?"

„Sure. Don't tell Thorin. Won't take me."

„Take you?"

„To Erebor. Want to go. Need to go. Mum doesn't…" He tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat. „Doesn't want me to. Says too young. Too dangerous."

She was silent.

„Katla?"

„I'm here."

„Why is it so dark?"

„It's night. And we are in a cave."

„Why?"

„We needed to find shelter. Kíli, can you sit up?"

„Am not?"

„No. Here. Let me help you."

A strong hand grasped his arm and hurled him upright. Instantly his stomach turned over and he gagged.

„Sorry, I'm so sorry. You better lie down again."

„No." He pressed his hand over his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose. Slowly. In. Out. His head throbbed. He felt sick.

„Do you remember what happened?"

„Fell. From the pony."

„Yes." Her voice sounded relieved. „You fell. You hit your head."

His fingers searched his hairline where the aching and throbbing was worst. A sticky lump of hair was glued to his forehead. He picked at it and yelped.

„What? What happened?" Katla's hands were on his face.

„Bump on me head."

She laughed. „I'm sure there is a mighty bump. You were out cold for so long you really got me worried."

„Really?"

„Yeah. I was afraid the orcs got you after all."

„Orcs?"

„We were attacked. Don't you remember?"

His fingers were picking at the wound again, gentler this time, but the dried lump of grit and hair was too entangled. His face was crusted with something too. He scratched some of it off and tasted it. Blood. He tried to sit more upright and straightened his shoulders. It hurt. He had injured his shoulder a long time ago. His hand went down on his throbbing thigh. And his leg. He was not in Ered Luin, he suddenly knew. And Thorin was no longer here to protect him.

He let out a shaky breath.

„What about Ari?"

„Dead."

„Daisy?"

„Bolted when I got to you. I hope she makes it to Erebor."

„You carried me here?"

„Aye. You weigh a lot more than I thought, skinny as you are."

„Am not."

She laughed. „Ow. I see you're coming around. Arguing again."

„Where are we?"

„In a cave on the outline of the Lonely Mountain where the river meets the pine grove. It's probably a bear's cave judging by the smell."

„We have to get out of here."

„No. The orcs surely followed us. We left a good trace of blood. In here we are safe, the rift is too small for them to enter."

His hands searched for his sword.

„My weapons?"

„I've got your sword. Had to leave the bow though."

„Have yours?"

„No. My quiver was tied to Daisy's saddle anyway."

She sounded tired and as if suppressing a groan of pain.

„Are you okay? Wounded?"

„A little."

„Where? How bad is it?"

„It's nothing."

He felt her body for the injury, a little awkward at first – she was a female after all – but then got hold of a broken arrow shaft stuck in her side. She cried out at the touch. His fingers felt warm blood oozing from the wound.

„This is bad. We have to take care of that."

He needed light to check the wound. Dwarves could see fine in the dark but this was pitch black. He searched his pocket for his flint, then fumbled for dry twigs on the ground. Finally he managed to get a small fire going, making sure the smoke would escape through the rift in the rock so that they wouldn't suffocate. Katla's face was deadly pale, little beads of sweat stood on her forehead. He felt for the arrow again, buried between her ribs, and took a good look at the wound. Relieved, he realised the blood that was trickling down her side wasn't either bubbly or light red. Still, the wound was deep and probably causing inner bleeding. He had to get Katla to Erebor's infirmary as quickly as possible.

„Does it hurt when you are breathing?"

„Yeah."

„Too bad. Stopping is not an option. Not good for the healing process."

„Ow. You rat. Stop making me laugh."

Without warning he pulled out the arrowhead in one strong move.

She cried out in pain, her body convulsing and then collapsing.

„Sorry, love." He stroke her cheek gently. „Had to get this out. Stopped your laughter, though."

„Not funny."

„Yes, it is. You just have a poor sense of humour."

With a bandage he had ripped from his shirt he dressed the wound carefully.

„Press your hand on that. We need to stop the bleeding."

He stomped the little fire out with his boot so the light from inside the cave wouldn't attract unwanted attention. Peering through the rift in the rock he managed to catch a glimpse of the night sky, twinkling with stars. What a peaceful sight, he thought.

„I'll check for orcs." He started to squeeze through.

„No! Kíli, please don't. You are not well. I am not well. We cannot defend ourselves."

„We cannot wait until they find us."

„Let's wait until dawn. Please. Orcs shun sunlight. You might even get hold of a raven and tell it to fly to Erebor and get help. Please, Kíli. Don't leave me."

She sounded frightened, and he sat down again. „Alright. We wait until dawn."

Sword in hand, he moved closer to Katla and let her lean against him. He listened to her muffled breaths, knowing she was trying to suppress her sobbing. She was a soldier, but she was young. She had never been severely injured before, he reckoned. Had never had to fight for her life before.

„Hush." He put his arm around her and planted a kiss on her hair. „There is no shame in crying."

„Yes, there is. I'm a warrior."

He chuckled. „Every warrior has cried one time or another."

„Dwalin?"

„I've seen it happen."

„You're joking."

„No."

„Thorin Oakenshield?"

„Oh yes. Often."

„Now I know you are joking."

„He had a soft heart. That's what made him such a great warrior."

„Like you."

„I'm not. I'm just… dunno. Me."

She laughed softly and moaned. „Every soldier in Erebor admires you."

„Nah. I'm the odd one, remember? The one climbing trees? Sleeping outside under the night sky instead of under the mountain? The one choosing a bow for a weapon? Every dwarfling in Ered Luin teased me about that."

„Not every dwarfling."

„No," he said fondly, putting his arm around her. Katla had indeed been of the very few dwarves who hadn't slagged him for his choice of weapon. She had wanted to learn from him.

„I've always admired you for that strong will of yours."

„Call it stubbornness."

„I call it strong will, because that's what it is. And look where it got you!"

„In a cave stinking of bear droppings."

„Ow. Please. Stop making me laugh." She tried to gain her breath. „I mean it. You are Commander of the strongest army in all dwarven kingdoms. An army with archer forces no less. Because of you Erebor is the most powerful stronghold in the North."

„You have a fever."

„You're really not good with compliments, are you?"

„So you're sweet-talking me?" He grinned.

„I am telling you the truth. You are a hero, like it or not. Most of the cadets have volunteered because of you. They want you to teach them, they want you to notice them. Especially the lasses."

He snorted. „As if."

But she was right. He had noticed lasses giving him the eye. As long as they only winked and smiled he could tolerate it. He was practically a bachelor, so who could blame them? He was Erebor's Prince after all.

„Mahal, I'm tired." Katla sounded drowsy.

„Then sleep. I'll keep watch."

„Thank you."

She snuggled closer and her breathing became regular.

He only realised he had fallen asleep too when he woke with a start. There was a noise, a scraping, clawing noise at the entrance of the cave. At the same time the old wound in his leg began to burn with a searing pain. The orcs had found them.

He cursed silently and tried to wake Katla who was still sleeping pressed against his chest. It took her a while to come round and when she finally woke she was much too dizzy for his liking. She must have lost a lot of blood, he thought with a sudden fright.

„Orcs," he whispered. „Stay put."

Sword in hand he tiptoed to the cave's entrance. Judging by the sound the orcs tried to widen the rift, and it didn't take long before the first claw appeared. Having expected that, Kíli brought his blade down and chopped the grey claw right off. The screech was shrill and answered by more voices in Black Speech. He could distinguish at least five or six different voices. He could take on that many, he was relatively sure, even with a throbbing headache, a slightly dizzy feeling and the usual pain in his leg. But there could be more. He peeked out of the rift and looked right into a yellow eye.

„Shakutarbik! Shakutarbik!" The voice sounded pleased but somewhat alarmed.

„We feel you. We see you. We smell your blood. Out you come." Another voice in heavily accented Westron, deeper and more confident. The yellow eye vanished.

„Dwarf! We will not kill you. Come out and you live."

„Go away and you live," Kíli growled.

The orc laughed.

„Shakutarbik, come out. The master wants you."

„Piss off."

„I piss on you. Rramamb. Start with female. Make you watch. Make her scream."

The orc gave a command and the scratching sound came again. Debris tumbled down. Kíli tried to see what was happening and edged closer, pressing himself flat against the wall. An orcish blade shot through the rift before he could jump back and sliced his arm open. He cursed, gripped his arm and the orc gave an oily laughter. The fiend brought its face to the rift and licked Kíli's blood from its black blade in an obscene gesture.

„I drink your blood. Ha lat maushat" The orc licked its lips and let its wet tongue linger repulsively, the blood dripping on its chin, while looking the dwarf in the eye. Kíli didn't blink. He rammed his fist out and drove the orc's sword right into the offending creature's mouth.

„I don't think so."

The orc gurgled and fell backwards. Shrieks and angry roars exploded outside the cave. But the orcs withdrew.

Suddenly exhausted, Kíli had to lean against the stone wall. He was panting. His head ached badly and his vision became blurry. He had to steady himself with his hands on his knees. Mahal, he felt weak like a newborn.

„Kíli." Katla's voice was faint. „What do we do?"

„We must fight." He smelled smoke. „They are going to drive us out."

„I don't think I can."

„I will shield you as much as I can, but you must be alert. Promise me. You must fight."

„I will."

With his dagger he cut off one sleeve of his tunic and wrapped it around a branch he picked from the poor fire he had lightened earlier.

„Take this. I'll make another one for me."

Smoke filled the little cavern, and both dwarves started to cough. Kíli took off his tunic, cut it into stripes, and tied one of them over his nose and mouth. Gesturing to Katla, he gave her another piece of cloth and wrapped the rest around another branch, lightening the cloth with his flint. Setting Katla's torch on fire, he motioned her to follow him, sword drawn. The two dwarves sprang out of the cave, blazing torches in one hand, swords in the other, and fell on the orcs. Katla was holding herself up well, hitting one orc in the eye with her torch and driving her sword into another one's gut. Kíli had trouble wielding his heavy battle blade over his head with his aching shoulder and cut arm, he should have taken it into his left, he thought with regret. But when he was attacked by a massive grey body in ill-fitting spiked armour, and forced backwards, his leg nearly giving way, his warrior's instincts took over and his arm simply functioned. He swirled round with torch and sword, cutting and burning his way through his enemies, shouting battle cries for encouragement. „Baruk Khazâd!"

When someone touched his shoulder he spun round, managing only just not to behead his companion.

„It's over." Katla stared at him, wide-eyed. „They're dead."

He let his sword sink to the ground, the rush of blood still loud in his ears. Body-parts and dead orcs decorated the pine needled forest floor around him.

He nodded, slowly coming to his senses again, taking in her pale face and the fresh blood on her side.

„Come on. Let's get you back to Erebor."

He wrapped his arm around her and supported much of her weight as they stumbled out of the forest. Katla was on the verge of loosing consciousness when they finally arrived at the great road. The watch would see them and send out riders, Kíli knew, and when he heard the pounding of hooves, he gratefully waited to be collected, only barely managing to stay on his feet. Holding the limp form of the Master Archer in his arms he gestured for one the riders to lift her on his pony.

„She is gravely injured. Lost a lot of blood. Get her to the healers, quick."

„My Lord, what about you?"

„I need to see the King first."

The rider slid off his pony, offering him the reins.

„Take my steed, my Prince."

Kíli nodded and swung himself into the saddle, spurring the pony into a gallop as soon as he had mounted.

On a different day he would have enjoyed riding right into the mighty kingdom of Erebor, galloping over the stone bridges and through elegant corridors, halting just before the King's throne in a sliding stop. Fíli jumped up in alarm.

„Durin's ass! Kíli! Are you out of your mind?"

Then Fíli saw the blood on his face and arm, and the anger melted into worry. „What happened to you?"

„Orcs," he panted. „Attacked us on the riverbank near the pine grove."

Fíli's eyes turned to steel. „How many?"

„No more than ten or twelve. All dead. But I bet they belonged to a bigger pack. They were much too confident for strays."

„And too near." Fíli nodded. He gestured to his personal guard. „See to this. Bring one for questioning, one of the higher ranks. Second or third in command. Kill the others."

Kíli started to mount his pony again. „I show you where they attacked us."

„No need. The soldiers will take care of the pack. You let yourself be treated in the infirmary." Fíli smiled. „I think I might escort you. Just to make sure you arrive at the healers."

Kíli rolled his eyes. „Unlike our uncle I have a sense of direction, you know."

„You have a sense for trouble." Fíli put his arm round his shoulder. „I look the other way and you are on that pony again hunting orcs. But you need to see a healer. You look terrible."

„It was a close call," Kíli admitted. „Katla is badly injured. Most of the blood on me is hers."

„Is she taken care of?"

He nodded.

„Ari was killed."

„I'm sorry."

„Me too." He sighed. „Come on. Say it."

„Say what?"

„That I should have taken guards with me."

„You know it. So why should I say anything?"

„I'm so fed up with being pampered all the time. Honestly, I didn't think we would encounter trouble."

„Of course you didn't. And most of the times you don't. I know of those hunting trips on your own. I know you need to get out of here from time to time. I will not chain you to Erebor's rock, you know."

„No?"

Fíli stopped dead in his tracks. „I won't keep you here against your will. If it is truly your wish to leave for Khazad-dûm, I will not stand in your way. I just want you to think about what you are giving up. What you are about to lose."

„Lose?" He let out a hollow laugh. „I have nothing to lose."

His brother regarded him, hurt edged into his handsome features. „If that is how you feel, I suppose you must go." He resumed walking, his shoulders bent.

Dammit.

„Fee." Kíli limped after him. „I didn't mean it like that."

His brother shrugged. „That's how you feel. It is alright. You are only being honest."

„Come on, nadad. You know I love you and your dwarflings."

„Not enough to stay, evidently."

„Don't say that. I did stay for you, back then."

They looked at each other in silence until Fíli lowered his gaze.

„I know," he said quietly. „I can never make up for this."

„Don't." Kíli clasped his brother's upper arms, looking him sternly in the eye. „Don't take the blame for something that was my decision alone."

„You would never have left her hadn't it been for me."

„She left me."

„She didn't. She left Erebor. You should have gone with her. Mahal, you would have gone right into the Halls of Mandos and back for her."

„It's long ago. Don't bother yourself with it."

„You bother me. I worry about you."

Kíli grinned. „You always worry about me. But you don't have to. I'm fine."

„No, you're not. You are lonely."

„With your dwarflings conquering my room before dawn and flinging themselves on me in my sleep? How can I be lonely?"

„Do not lie to me. You are getting more and more reckless because you think there is nothing here for you. And when you ride out and come back in a mess like this…" Fíli bit his lip. „I am scared. Tell me what to do."

„Nothing. You are here with me, that's all I need. I am fine, truly."

He closed his arms around his brother, hoping Fíli would feel that he was speaking the truth. He needed his brother more than anyone.

Fíli hugged him tight. „Anything I can do for you, I will."

„I know." Kíli smiled fondly. „Lend me your arm to get to the infirmary?"

„You took your time." Graurr, the Chief Healer, grumbled. „The other has been looked after and tucked in a sickbed a good while ago. She is sleeping now."

„How is she?"

„Weak. Lost a lot of blood but nothing serious. Next time you leave extracting an arrow to me, young hotspur. The lass will get quite a scar because of your attempt to butcher her."

„I thought…"

„Leave that to those with more experience," the old healer cut him off.

„Hey. I am still your Prince."

„I am the Chief Healer, lad. In here, my word counts more than yours."

Kíli sighed and let Graurr examine his wounds and bruises.

When the healer's cool fingers came up to the gash on his forehead, he flinched.

Graurr nodded. „Quite a hole you got in your head there. Feel dizzy?"

„A little."

Graurr held up three fingers. „How many?"

„Too many. Get them out of my face."

The healer wriggled his fingers, tapping them on Kíli's nose. „How many?"

„Three. But I'm about to bite one off if you continue."

„Rabies." Graurr nodded. „Not unheard of after being injured by orcs. You might want an injection in your rear."

„Funny. Just clean the wound, will you?"

„I have to cut some of your hair."

„Never!"

„I can comb out all the grime and blood if you wish, my Lord Prince," Graurr said viciously. „But it will hurt as if Durin's Axe was splitting your skull."

Kíli decided he was not at all vain. „Alright then. Cut it."

„As you wish, my Prince."

„Bugger."

After being treated and dismissed, Kíli caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and whined.

A thick, white bandage was wrapped around his head, a short tuft of unruly hair stood up like badly cut black grass. The complete right side of his face was bruised and purple, his eye swollen shut. He looked ridiculous.


	3. Chapter 3

**III. Interrogation**

His head was still aching despite the foul tasting medicine Graurr hat given him, and his limp had gotten worse. Rest, he thought. Sleep only for half a bell, that would be bliss. He headed for the Royal Wing when he heard high pitched dwarfling voices behind him.

„Unca Kee! Unca! Wait!"

He stopped, turned, and with all the experience of a much-loved uncle managed to get hold of the bundle of limbs and braids that was flinging herself in his waiting arms. He lifted the small body with a half-spin and let her rest on his arm.

„Freya! Where's…"

Her brother bumped right into him and knocked the wind out of him.

„Fynn!" The twins' mother was at her offspring's heels, trailed by the wet nurse carrying Fíli's youngest son, little baby Floí.

„Be careful with your uncle. He is wounded."

Fynn's blond head snapped up, awestruck. He took in Kíli's bandaged arm and head and his uncle's badly bruised face, that his sister's little hand was touching cautiously.

„In battle unca? Were you wounded in battle, yes?"

„Sort of. Fell from my pony."

Fynn shrieked with delight and waggled his bandaged wrist. „I'm have a battle wound! I fell from a pony yesterday!"

His sister growled down at him, and Kíli had to suppress a laugh at how much the little dark-haired princess looked like the legendary Thorin Oakenshield with her brows fiercely drawn together and her eyes flashing with anger.

„Oh," Fynn said. „But you must not know."

„Why not?"

„Because we should have askded you." His blonde nephew looked at him trustfully out of wide blue eyes. „You are not mad with us, please, unca Kee? It was not Ari's fault!"

„What was not his fault?"

„Me fallin' off," Fynn mumbled.

„He was really nice, unca, really. Fynn just fell." Freya gave him a pleading look. „Ari's a good pony! He has such a soft nose."

„He is wild, for Mahal's sake! Not a pony for little dwarflings to ride upon!"

With a pang Kíli suddenly remembered that no one would ever ride Ari again. Some foul orc had killed his stallion, his brave, loyal, fierce Ari. He gritted his teeth.

„You are mad at us." Freya looked startled.

„What? No! No, little one. I'm not. It is just…"

He looked at his sister-in-law and signalled a silent question in Iglishmêk with a subtle twisting of his fingers whether to tell the twins of Ari's sad fate.

The Queen nodded yes and took Floí in her arms, sending the wet nurse off while she resumed walking towards the Royal Chambers. Kíli took Fynn's hand and followed.

Hrynn, daughter of Queen Hesta and King Grymnir of the Red Mountains had entered Fíli's life twenty years ago. A highborn Lady from Ered Engrin, sent to Erebor to bewitch the young king. It had been a match forged by the Lady Dís and King Grymnir, they had worked out a lengthy contract and exchanged quite an amount of gold, Mithril, and gems.

Kíli had hated the very idea of his brother being sold like cattle on the market to ensure the prospering of two kingdoms. But he had hated the sight of his brother's haunted eyes light up with joy at the sight of his future bride even more. He had hated the flush on Fíli's pale cheeks and the smile on his usually tight-pressed lips. He had hated that his brother had fallen in love when he himself was utterly lost.

It was only when Hrynn put her newborn dwarflings in his arms that all his anger melted. He felt shame when she wished Kíli to be her offspring's Shield and Sword, but he accepted gladly. Miraculously, the Prince's weapon's performance improved considerably after that, so that his arrows no longer went astray and nearly shaved Hrynn's pretty sideburns off when she came to visit the archery field.

Listening to his niece's and nephew's happy chatter, Kíli trailed after the Queen as she led him into the Royal Couple's Private Chambers. Sitting down on the bench with two wriggling dwarflings in his lap proved to be a challenge, but one he had learnt to master over the years. Hrynn ordered hot black tea and warm milk and occupied little Flói with a game of building stones so that Kíli could carry out the dreaded task of telling the twins of Ari's death at the hands of orcs.

Fynn sniffed angrily and looked at his uncle sternly.

„You killded them, right?"

„Yes, I did."

„I want to kill them too."

„You will have to wait a while. Until you are grown."

„How much? This big?"

„Oh no. Much bigger, lad. As big as your Da."

„But that is too long!" Fynn whined. „I wanna kill orcs now!"

„Killing is no fun, lad. Not even killing an orc."

„No? Why not? You do it all the time, don't you?"

„I kill because I have to. To protect Erebor and the dwarves that live here. But all this killing gives me bad dreams in the night. You know what a bad dream is, don't you?"

„Yes. When I dream of dark places and bad things. I screams."

„Like Da…" Freya whispered. „He is shouting uncle Thorin's name then. And he weeps."

Kíli closed his eyes. His throat constricted, and moisture caught in his lashes. Very gently he kissed Freya's dark hair.

„Your mummy's always there to soothe him, little one. Don't worry about your Da. He is well cared for."

„Me too." Fynn said. „Mum's singing me back to sleep after a bad dream. Does granny sing for you, unca Kee? When you dreams bad?"

„She used to when I was your age."

„And now?"

„I am grown-up now. I don't need singing any more."

He thought of a beautiful elven voice that used to comfort him in dark hours, cloaking him like a cocoon made of pure love. Damn. He would give all his riches for a touch of her hand now, her lips on his forehead, the silken flow of her hair gliding over his face, her gentle voice.

Not that she had ever cared for his riches or his status. She had not even known he was a prince until after the Battle. Strangely enough all she had ever cared about was him.

He groaned, and Hrynn cast him a look.

„Tired," he admitted. „Headache."

„No wonder. Take a nap, you need it. It may take a while before the orc pack is hunted down."

„I should be out there."

„To fall off your pony again? You look as if you would faint any minute."

He laughed. „You mistake me for a hobbit!"

„And you overestimate your strength. You had a rough night, you were injured and most likely you have a concussion." Hrynn patted invitingly on a soft cushion. „Why don't you just lay down on the bench? I'll make sure you are fetched for the interrogation."

„Sounds good." He murmured and readily accepted a blanket and soft furs she draped over him. Already on the verge of sleep he felt two little bodies snuggle next to him.

When he was woken it was nearly evening. He had slept for hours and felt a lot better. Silently he stood up, careful not to wake the twins still sleeping under the furs, and followed the guard to the dungeon.

The soldiers had found the orc horde, hiding from the broad daylight at the outskirts of the mountain and erased it. As the King had ordered, they had captured one and brought it back to Erebor, tightly bound and gagged.

Fíli was already circling the prisoner as Kíli entered. As expected, his leg started aching in proximity of the bound orc, and he stood near the rear, placing a good distance between him and the grey fiend clad in stinky armour that seemed to be made out of raw hide and rusty metal and, he noticed with a shudder, somehow seemed to be worked into its skin. Kíli didn't want to examine further. The creature gave him the shivers already.

Fíli signed for the gag to be removed and the orc leapt into a spate of black curses.

„Enough." Fíli said quietly and the creature fell silent, its yellow eyes looking at the dwarven King as if trying to figure him out.

„What was your business here?"

„You will learn when the time comes." The orc grinned, exposing foul yet sharp teeth. „When we seize your mountain."

„My soldiers killed all your comrades. No orc sets his foot into my realm."

„Not yours. Not for much longer. The Dark One conquers all."

Fíli snorted. „Sauron was banished. Dispelled by the Lady of the Light forty years ago. He has not been heard of ever since."

The orc laughed. „Not by you, dwarf scum. But we hear. We serve. And He will rise again. He sees you. He will crush you. We make snaga out of you. Then you serve us." It laughed harder. „Snaga nar baj lufut."

„Dwarves will never be snaga, orc. What was your mission on Erebor lands?

But the orc had lost interest. Its yellow eyes were now fixed on Kíli who felt the old wound in his thigh throb harder now.

„Ah." The orc's yellow eyes lit up. „You are the flawed one. The one with our mark."

Kíli took an involuntary step back.

„You cannot flee from us. We have branded you with Morgul iron. We will always find you. You will succumb to the Dark Lord's will."

He shook his head. „Never."

The orc laughed again, a black, oily sound that made him sick. „They all say so. But when the Dark Lord comes, they cringe. They tremble and obey. They fade into darkness. You are already ours."

Kíli stepped back further, his shoulders bumping against the stone wall.

„Shut up." Fíli stepped between his brother and the orc. „Tell me what I want to know."

„What do you want to know, dwarf king? You want to know how we will brake you? You want to know how we will destroy your kingdom? You want to know how we kill your wife and little ones? How we will tear their soft bodies open and feed on them when they still cry for mercy?"

A sudden silver flash sliced through the orc's throat and black blood splattered on Fílis hand that had thrown the knife. The orc dropped on its knees, laughing despite the blood bubbling through its cut throat and pointing a bony finger at Kíli.

„You." It gurgled. „We own you."

Another knife flashed and buried itself hilt-deep between the orc's eyes. Fíli had a third knife ready pointing at the dying orc. It thrashed, spilling more black blood while gurgling inarticulate words. It let out its last rasping breath, blood still oozing from the gash, its yellow eyes still lingered on Kíli when they broke.

Own him? Find him? Was that why the orc-pack had come to the Lonely Mountain? To get him? He was suddenly and violently sick.

„Out." Fíli's voice was firm. „Let's get out of here."

He felt his brother's hand on his back steering him away from the corpse, through corridors and hallways. He anticipated more than he saw the slight wave of Fíli's fingers ordering the Royal Stewards to rush ahead and clear all pathways so that the King, black blood splattered on his face and hands, and his staggering brother could pass unseen. He didn't notice the gentle hands of Siólfr, his Personal Steward, undress him and help him into the bath. It was only when he sat on the marble bench, warm water flowing around him, that his vision cleared and the orc's voice in his head died down. Stupid, he thought. He was just being stupid, allowing an orc to scare him.

Fíli, angrily washing his hair clean of black blood, cast him a look.

„Better?"

He hummed in agreement.

„Sorry for… You know… Killing it before it could tell us more."

„There was nothing the orc would have told us. It was just trying to scare us."

„Worked fine with me," Fíli growled.

„Nothing will ever happen to your wife and dwarflings. You will always protect them. I will always protect them."

„I know." Fíli sighed. „Still. I couldn't stand that thing uttering such hideous words about my family. What it said to you…"

Kíli shook his head. „We know it is a Morgul wound. We know it reacts to the Darkness. It is quite handy actually, warning me of orcs and goblins before I even encounter them."

„But they feel it too, by what the orc said. They know of you."

He shrugged. „Only fair."

„Kíli…"

„It is fine, Fee, really. It scared me for a moment, I admit. But there is nothing to it."

He lifted his knee out of the water exposing the scar on his thigh. It wasn't even very impressive.

„I have been exceptionally lucky to survive that. You heard what the elven healer said. The poison has been fully eliminated or I would have turned into a wrath long ago. But Morgul wounds never fully heal. They always leave a Shadow."

Fíli kneaded his lip. „We still don't know why an orc pack dared to cross the border to Erebor lands."

„You think all that babbling about the Dark Lord is the truth? Is Sauron gaining strength again?"

„It is possible. I will send a raven to Gandalf. He should know."

Kíli refrained from answering. Gandalf could eat his beard for all he cared.

„Have you seen mother?"

Mother could eat her beard, too.

„Not yet."

„You should. She knows you have been injured."

„Great."

„Kíli."

„Yes. I will see her. Right after the bath. Will that meet your approval, majestic brother?"

Fíli stepped out of the water, tossing his brother a towel.

„Stop behaving like a dwarfling. I have three of those already." He towelled dry his long blond hair and wrapped a cloth around his hips. „I see you at dinner."

Kíli grumbled. Suddenly unable to relax in the water any longer, he got out and dried himself. Siólfr assisted him dressing in fresh clothes and tried to brush his tangled hair.

„Ow. Dammit! Stop it. I have a head wound. You want to tear it open again?"

„I am sorry, my Lord."

He sighed.

„No, I am sorry. I know you don't want me to look a mess. But just leave it be."

He patted old Siólfr's arm in reassurance. He hadn't wanted to yell at his steward. But his headache had returned, and just touching his hair hurt like the Gates of Angband had opened and unleashed its black torturers upon him.

Speaking of torture. He straightened his shoulders and went to see the Lady Dís.


	4. Chapter 4

His Lady Mother was in the Private Hall, waiting for dinner in front of a crackling fire, a scroll on her lap and a tankard of ale next to her. She looked up at him when he approached her, frowning at his battered face and the bandage round his head.

„Kíli let himself drop to the floor next to her armchair and crossed his legs.

„How are you?" He asked.

„I am well. It is you who has been injured."

„Just a scratch. Fell from the pony, hit my head."

„Orcs were hunting you?"

He shrugged and looked into the fire.

„Just some strays. We disposed of them. Katla has been wounded though."

„How bad is it?"

„She will recover well enough. I'll go and visit tomorrow."

„I'll come with you. She's an Ered Luin lass."

He grinned. „You still miss the Blue Mountains?"

His mother sighed. „It is silly, I know. But yes, I do. It has been our home for a long time. We were happy."

„I miss it, too. Remember when Thorin took Fíli and me hunting for the first time? We brought back a full grown boar!"

„And a wolf's cub. You were determined to raise it."

„It was cute." He winked. „And I did a good job raising it."

„Until it killed the farmer's sheep."

„There's no proof Fluffy did that!"

„Thorin had to pay a lot of gold for these sheep. He worked hard in the forge for that money. It was supposed to keep the dwarves fed through the winter."

„I know. He made me hunt, regardless of how high the snow would be. He never accepted me coming home without game."

„You had to learn that every deed has consequences. You had to learn that as a prince you were responsible not only for your own fate but for those in your care too."

„I was only 46, mum."

„You were no longer a dwarfling. You insisted of being treated like Fíli, and that was what Thorin did."

„I suppose so. And I did bring game."

„You were a good hunter, even back then."

„Good archer's training, too."

„That's what Thorin said." She grinned. „He was grumbling but he had to admit you were a natural with a bow."

„He never liked my choice of weapon though. Hadn't it been for you he would have forbidden it."

„He would have come around by himself eventually. I only kicked him in the rear to speed things up. "

„I bet it was a good kick." He grinned up at his mother.

She winked. „It was, son. It was. Thorin needed that sometimes. In that you are just like him."

„Wha'?"

„You need a good whack on the head from time to time."

„Thank you, but I just got that."

Her bright blue eyes, so much like Fíli's, looked at him, suddenly troubled. „What did the healer say? A head wound can be treacherous, you know."

He waved her concern away. „Nah. I'm fine. Durin's skull, mother."

„I know you're pig-headed. I raised you."

Fíli raised me, he thought. But kept quiet. It wouldn't have been fair anyway. His mother had been widowed early and forced to raise her two small dwarflings on her own. And with Thorin tracking the vanished King Thráin whenever he heard a rumour of their father's whereabouts, Dís had to rule under the Blue Mountains. That didn't leave much time for her sons. Yet Kíli knew she had always cared for him. He was her little one, born on the night of Flóki's death, much too early in mid-winter. The midwife hadn't thought he would survive the night. But Dís had held him tight and warm, had fed him although he refused to drink, and he had lived. She had always been protective about him. And when Thorin had finally set his mind on retaking Erebor, her brother and Fíli both needed all their persuasive powers till she finally gave in and allowed Kíli to accompany them. Mostly it had been because she knew he would have run off after them anyway.

„You still manage to scare me, son. A mother doesn't like her dwarflings to get hurt."

„It's nothing."

He felt her fingers gently stroke his head. It hurt, but he let her.

„What happened to your hair?"

„Healer cut it."

She hissed. Dís, gifted with thick, still golden locks despite her age that hung down in intricate braids right to her waist, was very peculiar about hair. Hair was precious, a symbol of courage and strength, of social status, wealth, profession, heroic deeds and even lineage. She had accepted her younger son keeping his beard a mere stubble so that it would not get entangled in his bowstring, but she had always taken pride in his thick, raven black hair cascading down his shoulders even when he wouldn't put braids and beads in.

„There are a lot of knots in your hair. It's all tangled and messy. I'll brush it for you."

He groaned. „No. Please. It hurts. I'll do that myself in a few days."

„Nonsense. You are Prince of Erebor, you cannot look like an orc. I will be gentle."

She took the brush and comb a steward offered and started working on his hair.

„It is just like when you were small. I used to do your hair then."

He winced, remembering the twinges and how he usually had tried to avoid his mother combing his hair. He had never given his appearance much thought anyway and would have gone for days with twigs and burrs tangled in his strands. To be honest, he still would. He just couldn't bother.

„Ow!"

„Sorry, darling. That's a mess. It doesn't even look like a braid anymore. I shall take it out and comb it. I can make you a new one if you want."

„No." He felt for the only braid he had. „It stays."

„Why do you still keep that? Despite everything? It is time you get rid of it. There is not much left of it anyway after all this time."

„I said it stays."

„It is not even pretty. I have never liked that elven pattern, it doesn't suit you. That is for tree-shaggers. You are a strong, male dwarf, not a sissy."

„Mother."

„I am just saying it is time for you to move on."

He opened his eyes. „Move where?"

„Kíli. You are entering your prime. You are a Prince of Erebor. You can do anything."

„What do you mean? Did Balin tell you?"

„Balin?"

„That I thought about joining his quest for Khazad-dûm?"

„No, he didn't. And he knows damn well why he didn't, that old blunt-axe. Khazad-dûm is lost. And I won't see another member of my family lose their life at its gates, especially not one of my sons who barely survived the Battle."

„Calm down, Fíli won't let me go."

„Good. I would have skinned him otherwise. Right after skinning Balin."

„What did you mean then, when you said I could do anything? I am Captain of the forces already. There is not really much more to achieve."

She laughed. „Dwarrowdams, you simpleton. Get yourself a wife!"

„I have a wife."

„Not a dwarrowdam. Nobody will be offended when we declare that relation invalid. The elven witch is gone for good."

He leapt to his feet and glowered at his mother.

„Do not call her that. And don't even think of revoking my marriage."

„Some marriage," Dís sneered. „That bony twig hasn't even given you dwarflings."

„Curse you."

„Kíli!"

He stomped out of the room, leaving a trail of Khuzdul swear words, just to collide with Balin.

„Not your lucky day today, is it, lad?" The white-bearded dwarf lord looked him over.

Kíli managed a lopsided grin. „What gave me away?"

Balin grinned but refrained from answering.

„Did you talk to the King?"

Kíli sighed. „Yeah."

„He still doesn't want you to go then?"

„I am afraid not."

„Understandable. Dori doesn't want Ori to join either."

Kíli guffawed. „Ori? Wants to march upon Moria?"

„He thinks a heroic quest like that demands a scribe." Balin's watery-blue eyes penetrated him. „Do not underestimate Ori. He never was trained as a fighter but he faced our enemies on the battlefield at the Lonely Mountain nonetheless. He didn't run like so many others, he stayed true."

„I know. I am sorry." He couldn't help a chuckle escape his throat. „But… Ori! His slingshot will make a real difference against Durin's Bane."

Balin's mouth twitched. „He can always strangle it with his knitted scarves. And besides, Bofur has come up with a more weighty solution." Balin nodded reassuringly, blue eyes twinkling, and put an arm round his shoulders. „Be patient, laddie. Everything will work out just fine."

„Patience is not my strong suit."

„I know. I did try to teach you dwarven history for years."

„I tried my very best to memorise all royal lines and battles of the seven kingdoms!"

„Bah. You were much too occupied with fletching arrows under your desk."

„You knew?"

„Of course I knew. How you managed to pass exams is still a mystery to me."

Kíli grinned and refrained from telling his old teacher that Fíli let him crib.

Balin steered him into the Great Hall where Erebor's inhabitants were taking their meals together. It had been Fíli's idea, right after he had been crowned King. They were still cleaning out rubble out of Erebor and he had worked himself tired together with the others. So why shouldn't he take his meals in their company? It was optional, the dwarrows of Erebor could dine with their families in their private quarters if they wished, but the Great Hall was always swarming with life at meal-times.

On the dais where the Royal Family was seated, the Lady Dís took her place at Fíli's left and searched for Kíli's eye. He pretended not to notice, and strolled through the hall, looking for a drinking companion. Ori? Not really. The scribe was sitting next to a mouse-haired female and explaining different textures of parchment. Balin? Nah. Dwalin? Much better. Although the Weapon Master was talking to Dwoss. But beggars couldn't be choosers. Kíli took his tankard and let himself drop between the two.

„To Erebor." He lifted his ale.

„May she stand true." Dwalin nodded and raised his tankard.

„May she always prosper." Dwoss followed suit and downed his drink.

Wiping the foam from his lips, Dwalin refilled their tankards.

„Did you hunt the orc-pack, Master Dwalin? How big was it?"

„No more than twenty. No match for our soldiers."

„They managed to injure the Prince." Dwoss pointed at Kíli's bandaged head.

„They didn't. The orcs killed my pony. I took a fall."

„You have a bandaged arm as well. Did you find out, what brought a pack of orcs so close to the lonely mountain?"

„No," Kíli answered a trifle too quickly. „The one we questioned wouldn't tell us."

„Maybe you asked the wrong questions. Or you asked too nicely."

„The captive was questioned by the King." Dwalin let his knuckledusters snap.

„In that case…" Dwoss emptied his tankard and gestured to his drinking companions. „Refill, anyone?"

Kíli was halfway through his fourth ale, when a page appeared at his side.

„The Lady Dís is asking for you, my Lord Prince."

Kíli bared his teeth but stood. As her youngest son who didn't have a family of his own it was his duty to sit next to the widowed Kingmother at dinner. He downed his ale and slammed the tankard on the table.

„I'm off to the dragon's den."

„Watch your mouth. It is the Lady Dís you are talking about." Dwalin glared at him.

„You have a soft spot for her." Kíli grinned. „Maybe you should court and marry. She goes to sleep with her battle axe on her pillow, just like you. The two of you together would be more frightening than old Smaug himself. And I would be off the hook at dinnertime."

Dwalin mumbled something into his beard, and Kíli's grin widened when he detected the flush creeping up the old warrior's neck. He looked into his tankard and disappointingly found it still empty.

„You may want something more spirited." Dwoss offered him a flask he had produced from inside his leather overcoat.

Kíli accepted and put the silver flask to his lips. The liquid seemed to instantly burn a hole in his tongue, and he had to fight back a cough at the thick and somewhat dusty taste. He couldn't help a shudder though. That drink was utterly disgusting, and, Kíli thought, as he handed back the richly ornamented flask to its grinning owner, suited Dwoss perfectly. It tasted like old socks pickled with ears wax and hot peppers. He made a face and went up the dais to join his mother.

As soon as dinner was over he excused himself with a headache. The constant throbbing from his head wound had worsened, and Kíli felt slightly sick. He retreated to his chambers, yearning for the silence he usually dreaded. Stewards bowed deep and opened the Royal Wing's big doors for him to pass through. His iron clad boots made no sound on the plushy carpet as he turned left and right and left again and opened the door to his private apartment.

No guards were watching his rooms, unlike the King's chambers and that of the Lady Dís. Kíli had refused to have dwarves stationed at his door, claiming he was quite capable of defending himself. Not that his brother and his mother weren't, of course. But the very idea of having someone outside his rooms day and night… Especially the nights had worried him, he had pictured a dwarf with his ears pressed to the thick wooden door to pick up any sound from the Prince's sleeping chamber that he had shared with an elf. Stupid of course. A Royal Guard would never do such a thing. It didn't even matter anymore. But Kíli still felt more comfortable without someone standing watch at his door.

Pulling his fine woven tunic over his head he started to undress and climbed into his big bed. He crossed his legs with some difficulty, due to his still aching old wound, and closed his eyes for his usual nightly ritual that would enable him to sleep untroubled by nightmares. He figured after his encounters with those orcs, he could use all the help he could get. Dwalin had taught him how to slow his body down and make his brain all blurry and too tired to race over bloody images of battle, dead eyes and torn limbs. It didn't work equally well with the memory of copper-red hair that kept flowing round the edge of his vision like a silken water plant.

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 **Author's note:**

I've stopped to rack my brain for chapter headings.

Please review. Not necessarily on lack of headings.

But the story as such. What do you make of it so far?


	5. Chapter 5

Pain. Flames. A dark voice commanding him, blackness creeping up on him. Someone watching him, the glare of a single, red eye burning through his skin, piercing his brain.

Kíli awoke with a strangled cry and leapt out of bed. But as soon as he put his weight on his bad leg, it collapsed with a stab of pain and he crashed on his knees with a yelp. The pain in his leg gnawed its way to his stomach. He felt like throwing up. His head hurt as if it wanted to explode. It took all his effort to draw himself up, to dress and to limp down to the Hall. He had to steady himself on the walls.

He felt fright mingling with the pain. It was like it had been back then, when he had been hit by the Morgul arrow. He had suffered a pain then he had never felt before. A pain that had taken control, a pain that had dragged him into darkness.

It wasn't like back then, he told himself. He was whole and safe. The wound had been healed. The elven healer patching him up after the Battle at the Lonely Mountain had been puzzled. A lowly Silvan elf should not have been able to fight the Black Breath like that, to extract the deadly poison that had already begun to feast on the young dwarf's flesh and soul. She should not have been able to free him from the Evil One's grip.

But she had. Kíli had seen her Light in the darkness and followed it, had felt the warmth radiating from it, melting the icy hold he had been caught in. He had seen her truly then, the pureness of her heart, the beauty of her soul. He had clung to her, and she had brought him back into the world of the living. The healer had been convinced that Tauriel had only succeeded in saving him because she had shared her fae. He had been disgusted by the very idea. As had so many others been in the years to come, elves and dwarves alike.

Carefully taking one step after the other, Kíli finally made it to the Council Chamber and took his seat. The Council had already started, and he earned some frowns. He was in no mood for an excuse, so he just dropped his head, stretched his leg cautiously and made an effort to hide his laboured breathing and to mop his sweaty brow without drawing attention.

He tried, he really did, but he couldn't follow the conversation at the big, round table. So he just gave up and clutched his aching thigh and sat and gazed into space.

„Kíli?"

Someone gave his shoulder a nudge.

„Kíli?"

„Huh?"

Fíli glared at him, his brows knitted together. „We were asking about the cavalry you wanted to set up."

„We have started training. Give me two or three full moons and it will be operational."

„Why do we need a cavalry in the first place?" Dwoss asked suddenly.

„I have told you at least a hundred times. But I will gladly tell you again. With a cavalry we will have speed on our side. We can attack swifter, outrun our enemies. The riders will use special bows and be able to cut through the fiends' lines from afar."

„A fight from afar. There is no honour in that."

Kíli gritted his teeth.

„You want to establish elven ways in Erebor. Have you not ordered those bows at the Woodland Realm?"

„They are expert bow makers."

„Of course they are, lad. Archery is an elvish skill. It is not the dwarven way." Dwoss smiled at him. „But have your cavalry, my Lord Prince. Indulge in your privilege. As for our forces? We don't need archers stationed at Erebor."

Kíli forced his voice to sound calm. „With archers you can hold attackers at bay and keep them from advancing too close. A siege will be much more difficult to accomplish."

„A troop with good, strong battle axes and hammers could do the same."

„If you want to engage the enemy in hand-to-hand combat, sure they could. If you want to meet possible attackers right at our Front Gate, if you don't care about the number of our wounded and dead, yeah. Great idea. Forget the bows and take up axes."

The pain from his leg throbbed against his fingers like a living creature trying to gnaw its way out of its cage. His head ached.

„Dwarrows are no cowards. We do not fear injury or death. A bow is for elves, curse them, and for those too fearsome to fight properly."

Kíli leapt over the table and grabbed the older dwarf's collar.

„You are suggesting what? That I am a coward?"

„No. Of course…" Dwoss choked.

Dwalin yanked Kíli back and pressed him down on the stool.

„Easy, lad. No one was suggesting anything."

„Yeah. Right." He sneered and glared at Dwoss under furrowed brows.

The bushy-bearded dwarf grinned viciously and signed something rude in Iglishmêk. Kíli hurled himself over the table again, his hand missing Dwoss' throat by mere inches. The grey bearded dwarf kicked his stool aside and retreated to the wall behind.

Dwalin pressed Kíli into his chair once again. This time, the old warrior's hand never left his shoulder, the tattooed fingers held him in an iron grip that would have been painful hadn't there been the other pain in his leg wiping everything else from the face of the world.

The rest of the meeting was a blur of voices and anger and pain. He wasn't addressed again. But when Council was finally over, Fíli kept him sitting until the last dwarf had emerged from the room.

„What in Durin's name has gotten into you? You are Prince of Erebor, damn it, you cannot behave like a rabid animal! Are you even listening to me?"

Kíli didn't even bother to answer.

„Are you keeping orcs?" He asked, his voice raw.

Fíli stared. „What?"

„Orcs. Have you brought orcs to Erebor? Are they in the dungeons? How many? Since when? Why didn't you tell me?"

„You know we haven't imprisoned any orcs. I killed the one we held captive."

„Then they must be close to the Lonely Mountain. It must be a pack, a really big one this time. There is danger, Fíli. I bloody feel them."

„You leg?" His brother eyed him wearily. „Does it give you pain?"

He laughed. „Pain? It kills me. There must be an army of orcs invading our lands as we speak. You have to send out a full force."

Fíli nodded. „I will see to it."

The King of Erebor motioned for his attendant and told him to send out the War Master with his forces, then he stood up and took his little brother by the elbow.

„Come."

„Where?"

„Infirmary."

Kíli laughed again. „And what do you suppose they can do?" He shook his head, strands of hair got stuck on his sweaty face. „There's nothing anyone can do. Except get rid of the orcs."

His brother's grip grew tighter.

„Come with me. Now."

Kíli managed to get himself up, still shaking his head. But he let Fíli walk him to the healers. It took excruciatingly long, and when he was eventually there, his tunic was soaked in sweat and his breath came in raspy gasps.

Chief Healer Graurr gave him a sideways look.

„What is it today, my Prince?"

He shook his head, but couldn't help his hand moving to his leg and holding it in a tight grip.

„Pain in your leg? The old wound?"

Graurr looked interested now.

„Let me see." The old healer removed Kíli's fingers and shoved his trouser leg up above his knee so that the small scar was visible. It looked completely innocent.

Graurr poked the skin, and Kíli had to grab his brother's arm in a desperate move to prevent him from screaming aloud.

„Painful, yes?"

Graurr poked some more and brought his eyes close to the tissue.

„Can't see anything, though. Looks completely normal to me."

He took a small knife and cut into the skin until blood began to flow.

„No black liquid. It shouldn't be bothering you. I am not sure what causes your anguish, but I can give you something for the pain."

Gratefully Kíli swallowed the bitter potion and let Fíli walk him to his chambers. He fell asleep as soon as he lay down.

–––

When he woke up, dawn creeping through the big glass doors of his sleeping chamber, his head still ached badly and the pain in his scar still bit white-hot in his flesh. His legs were so entangled in his sheets he could barely move. Kíli freed himself from blankets that were clammy with sweat and rolled on his back. He knew he'd had bad dreams, but could not really remember what the nightmare had been about. Blurry images of fire, of a reptilian eye watching him haunted his memory. Oily black voices rang in his ears but he couldn't grasp their meaning. The orc encounter in Erebor's dungeon had obviously shaken him more than he cared to admit.

Carefully he stood up, drank some water and opened the doors to his private balcony to breathe the damp and fresh air of early spring. The terrace was high on top of the mountain, and the view was breathtaking, even now when fog was cloaking the mountain's rock.

Tauriel had loved spending her nights out in the open bathing in starlight, and he had loved the pale glow of her skin in the stars' silver shimmer. Bright and precious like Mithril, he used to say, which would make her sensuous mouth widen in a smile, her moist, pink lips slightly open. An invitation to kiss her that he could never resist.

A sudden longing seized his heart, an emptiness roared up inside, and he turned back into his chambers and carefully closed the door. Without thinking, he went to his chest of drawers and rummaged through the top drawer until he found the green tunic carefully hidden away at the back. Bringing the cloth to his face, he still could smell her scent in the garment, this unique odour of grass and earth and wind and flowers.

Months after she had left, when he'd been trashing most of the furniture in his room in a rage, he had found her tunic under the bench. He had kept it, secretly, had slept with his face buried in the soft cloth. In the years following her departure he had developed a sort of ritual where he would look at the garment, touch it, breathe it in. It had once been a necessity to carry on, but the last years the tunic had spent tucked away in its drawer and he had almost forgotten about it. But now he felt again like he couldn't do without.

For the most part of the morning he lay curled up on his bed, the green tunic draped over his throbbing leg. Once or twice he drifted into sleep, only to wake with a start, his heart beating painfully fast and his breathing close to sobs. The third time he dozed off and orcs invaded his sleep and whispered in his ear that he was theirs now, he got up, ignoring his aching leg and head, and called for Siólfr to help him dress.

Eager to hear whether Dwalin had detected and hunted down the orcs that he was sure had entered the realm, Kíli approached the King's Study.

„… is under a lot of stress, surely. You might do him a favour, my Lord King."

„When he says he feels the danger, I believe him."

„But Dwalin couldn't find any evidence of intruders."

„Doesn't mean there weren't any." That was Dwalin's deep bass.

„I know you and your soldiers turned every stone. Yet you didn't find a single trace. If in fact there had been an army of orcs invading Erebor's lands, as the Prince believed, don't you think you would have detected them?"

Dwalin just grumbled.

„It is no reason to banish him from Council and even less to release him from Command."

„I am simply worried, just as you are, my Liege. He barely escaped with his life the other day. Is it wise for the Prince to put himself into danger? You know as well as I that he always leads his troops, even ventures trips on his own."

Kíli cursed under his breath and entered the study. Fíli, Balin, Dwalin and Dwoss looked up at him.

„If you are considering stripping me of my command, maybe you want to talk to me first."

„No one is considering such a thing, lad."

Kíli noticed Dwalin was avoiding his eye.

„We were simply worried about you, my Prince. You look somewhat dishevelled. How are you feeling today?"

He ignored Dwoss and stepped closer to his brother.

„What is this about?"

„Dwalin couldn't detect orcs."

„Maybe they retreated in time. Maybe I was wrong. Why is that worrying you so much that you meet with your advisors and leave me out?"

„Your behaviour at the Council worries me."

Kíli turned away from his brother and glared at Dwoss.

The older dwarrow lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence. „I never asked this to be a point of discussion. Everybody knows of your famous temper, my Lord. One cannot expect you to have it under control at all times. No harm was done."

„It was not the first time you behaved unseemly," Fíli said. „Not so long ago you attacked an emissary from the Iron Hills during a Council meeting."

Kíli shrugged. „He deserved it. He insulted you."

Dwalin chuckled. „That dwarf's nose will never be the same."

Balin cast his brother a dark look. „Do not encourage him. It is not behaviour befitting a Council member, least of all a Prince."

„We all know you are not fond of Council meetings." Dwoss' smile was sly. „Maybe it would be good for you to be freed from that task."

Fíli nodded. „You are not well. Heal. Rest. Let the others take over for a while."

Kíli felt a strange deja-vu of being unwanted and left behind by those he wished to support. Not you. Stay and heal, Thorin had said as he stepped into the boat. It had hurt then, although Kíli could see his reasons. He had been too sick, too weak to make the trip. Now? He was not behaving like the Council members thought he should, nothing more.

„You should stay at Erebor for some time, too. Drop your habit of riding out alone. It is much too dangerous."

„Fíli…"

„Dwalin didn't find any orcs, but they could be out there. Stay on Erebor lands until further notice."

He shook his head. „I am Captain of the forces. You want me not to patrol any more? You want me to stay behind should the need for a sortie arise?"

„Dwalin is most capable." Balin patted his brother's trunk like arm affectionately. „As is your Master Archer."

„She is wounded and in bed."

„And whose fault is that, I wonder?" Dwoss murmured under his breath.

„The orcs'."

Encouraged by the sight of Dwoss recoiling at the tone of Fíli's voice, Kíli smiled at his brother.

„There is no need for you to worry. Or to ground me. I will perform my duties without incident."

„Really? Then why aren't you in your consultation hour right now?"

„Consultation?" He stared at Fíli, surprised.

Fíli sighed. „Don't tell me you've forgotten. The Hall will be crammed by now."


	6. Chapter 6

**VI.**

The dwarves of Erebor were granted an audience with King or Prince once a moon, and Kíli dreaded Consultation Hour even more than Council meetings. Why all these dwarves were complaining so much, he would forever fail to understand. What did it matter that the plumbing wasn't working properly at all times? Who cared that the war pigs Daín Ironfoot had sent as a present were rampaging through the Halls of Memory and gnawing at the fine tapestries? Smaug had ripped half of Erebor apart.

Three bells later, a merchant had complained about bad roads, another had offered a special price on Rhosgobel rabbits, three elderly dwarrowdams had voiced their concern about the lack of morals that would surely result from joint training sessions for lasses and lads, and a tinker had wanted advice on a love poem he had written for his intended. At least the pain in his leg and head had subsided. Kíli suppressed a yawn, adjusted himself in his seat, stretched his shoulders and gestured for the last dwarrow to be shown in.

„I need to talk to you!"

A young lass was approaching fast, her mouse brown braids swinging. She took the stool in front of him and sat, a triumphant glow in her amber eyes.

Kíli was not sure what to make of this. She hadn't approached him in the appropriate manner, she hadn't bowed, she hadn't even introduced herself. She had violated almost every aspect of protocol. Nevertheless, he tilted his head slightly and offered a friendly greeting.

„Kíli, Prince of Erebor, at your service."

She blinked. „Pardon me? Oh, yes. Of course. Eyra, daughter of Halla."

It still wasn't sufficient. The steward cleared his throat. But Kíli was determined to let it slip. They would still sit here two bells later if he wanted a proper greeting from this confused lass.

„So, Eyra, daughter of Halla. What is on your mind?"

„The question is, what is on yours?"

„Err?"

„You dislike books, don't you? You think that learning about dwarrow history is of no importance?"

He stared. Then a chuckle escaped him.

„The bastard. I never thought he had it in him."

„I don't know what you are talking about."

The chuckle turned into a hearty laugh.

„Lass, that was way too easy. Tell Balin I do remember history lessons. I suppose I will until I pass into the Halls of the Waiting. And even then. I will remember Gunnar the Geek declaring a treaty with the Red Mountains in summer 1634 that lasted until Erebor was taken by Smaug."

„Great."

„Yeah. Isn't it. I remember all of it."

„It was Gunnar the Great."

„Huh?"

„You said Geek."

„Whatever. Tell Balin. And tell him, it was fun! A good prank, I am impressed. Off you go now."

„Oh no. That is no laughing matter, and you won't get rid of me so easily. You really don't seem to value history lessons. Or education as such."

„When have I ever said so?"

„Three days ago, you told the Prince and Princess they could skip history lesson, didn't you?"

„Yes, I did. But…"

„How are they supposed to rule a kingdom one day if they stay uneducated? Oh, I suppose you think being able to wield a sword or shoot one of those silly arrows will do. But muscles are not what makes a King. I am sure King Fíli would agree."

He stared at the lass, who was slightly panting now and trying to straighten a loose braid.

„Look, I told them they could skip the lesson because they hadn't finished archery training."

His voice still sounded very friendly and didn't reveal any of his growing irritation. He was quite pleased with himself.

„See? That is exactly what I meant!"

„What?"

„Have you ever been to Erebor's library?"

„Of course I have!" He sat straighter. „If you must know, the chief scribe is a good friend of mine."

„Oh. So you visited him in the library." She looked at him and pursed her lips. „But have you ever been to the library to read?"

„Err." He coughed. „Well. With my obligations as Captain of the forces, I do not have much leisure time."

„Of course." She sneered. „You are a warrior. You choose a sword over a book. Can you even read?"

He gasped. „Of course I can." Damn, he shouldn't have answered that. „Who by Durin's hairy ass are you and what do you want?"

He gritted his teeth and pushed a stray lock out of his face. He shouldn't have said that either. So much for his promise to keep morals up. One simply didn't say a word like that to a lass, not even an annoying one.

„I am Eyra, daughter of Halla, as I already told you."

She looked expectantly at him as if her name should ring a bell. It didn't.

He shrugged. „And that is supposed to tell me what?"

„I am librarian to Erebor's bibliotheca. Which you would know had you ever used the library. And I am teacher to the little Prince and Princess. Whom I was missing in class because someone told them fighting was more important than their history lesson."

„I didn't say that. I didn't mean that. I just…"

She rolled her eyes. „I can see now why you have no use for books. Your command of language is poorly." She paused and eyed him in wonder. „Are you really the King's brother? I mean, the King is so educated and literate and you…"

Her voice trailed off but Kíli was sure he heard her mutter „imbecile". He stared disbelieving at the young librarian. His jaw had dropped sometime during her offending speech, and he realised it still hung open.

„You understood what I was saying, didn't you?"

He shut his mouth. And thinking of the rant that was forming in his head, he kept it shut.

„Good." The lass left, braids swinging.

Kíli glared at the steward who tried to disguise a laugh with a coughing fit.

—

„How was Consultation?" Fíli asked while sorting through what seemed a thousand papers with sealing wax and narrow writing on them.

„Fine."

Fíli arched an eyebrow, and Kíli grinned.

„Boring." He made a face. „Your dwarfling's teacher came to visit me. To scold me, to be precise."

Fíli's eyebrow was dangerously close to his hairline now. „Scold you?"

„I allowed the little ones to skip a lesson and continue target praxis."

Fíli laughed. „Mahal. I can imagine what happened."

„I don't think you can. The lass practically insulted me of being illiterate and ignorant."

„What's new?"

„Funny."

„You want me to have a word with her?"

„Nah."

Kíli shifted his weight from one foot to the other and watched his brother opening scrolls and frowning at their contents.

„I bet no one has ever told you that being king of the most important dwarven realm meant paperwork mostly."

His brother chuckled. „No, Balin and Thorin conveniently left that out. It was all about glory."

„There's a lot of glory in surviving Council meetings. How you manage to juggle all your responsibilities without beheading someone from time to time will forever remain a mystery to me." He grinned lightly. „But one I am willing to solve. You don't have to throw me out of Council. I promise to behave and not strangle that old moth-beard Dwoss."

„I expect you to. And I promise, you will attend the meetings again." Fíli flipped through the papers and cursed slightly. „In a little while. When you will have recovered from your injuries."

„I bumped my head, Fíli. It doesn't hurt anymore. It is not even a real injury. We both suffered a lot worse."

„And I don't care to repeat any of it."

„Neither do I. But forbidding me to ride out overdoes it a little, don't you think?"

„Those orcs you encountered knew who you were. What happened to you in Laketown. They probably entered Erebor lands because of you. I don't think being careful is overdoing it."

„They are dead and gone."

„There's a lot more orcs out there. I don't want you to put yourself into danger."

„I cannot stay in Erebor for the rest of my life. I will not hide, it's not in my blood."

„I know. Just stay until we've found out what those orcs were up to. I need to know that you are safe. You will have to take my place should something happen to me until Fynn is old enough to be crowned king." Fíli's solemn expression melted into a smile. „And you are my little brother, I don't want anything to happen to you."

Kíli couldn't help but return his brother's grin. „Agreed. I will stay as long as it takes. But please, be quick."

„I already sent a raven to Gandalf."

Kili sneered. „What do you think Gandalf can achieve?"

„He is a wizard and our friend."

„He is an old smart-ass and not my friend."

„You can't possibly still carry a grudge against him? It's so long ago that he advised against you leading the troops to Rohan's aid when the Haradrim attacked. Kee, you weren't fully recovered from battle then. You were still healing."

„I was fully able to ride and fight."

„With your left hand. Your right was still in a sling."

„As I said. There was no reason to send Wanda Wartnose instead."

Fíli suppressed a grin.

„Wanda Warthroes is a famous warrior."

„I wanted to aid King Theoden and his Rohirrim and forge an alliance with them. But, no, Gandalf had to send the Wartnose. And now she is considered a friend in the halls of the horse people." Kili growled. „It should have been me."

„Gandalf believed it unwise to send you."

„He also said it would be unwise for a dwarf to marry an elf."

Fili hesitated only slightly. „He was right."

Kili shook his head in denial. „You always supported us. You married us, although many of our people were outraged. You didn't care."

„It still was unwise. But you were never known for your wisdom."

Kíli shrugged. And changed topic.

„Has the raven returned you sent to the wizard?"

„Not yet."

„Tell me when you have news."

„Sure."

He left this brother to his tiresome paperwork and went to visit Katla.

–

She was still in the infirmary, sitting in bed, and her face lit up when he entered.

„Nice haircut."

He grunted and pointed at the bandage round her torso. „Nice wrapping."

„Graurr said, it's going to be quite a scar."

He dropped his lashes. „Sorry. My fault."

„Actually," she grinned, a little embarrassed, „I am quite proud to sport a scar. And a very impressive one, too. It looks like an arrow. Can you believe it?"

She patted the bed to make him sit down.

„You saved my life. Thank you."

„Nah. You saved mine. You dragged my sorry ass into that cave."

„Of course I did. I would give my life to save yours. You are Durin's heir."

„Stop that. You've known me forever. We used Bofur's hat for target practice."

„He was still under it. Sleeping." She chuckled. „Thorin grounded Fíli for not keeping an eye on you."

„Yeah. Well. He paid me back with interest. He grounded me today."

„He did what?"

„He has forbidden me to leave Erebor lands. Banned me from Council meetings, too. Which is not so bad, actually. I hate Council. Either I am in danger of falling asleep and snoring or breaking someone's neck."

„He should not treat you like that. He should show more gratitude."

„Katla."

„What? He is the King, and I before I speak ill of him I would cut out my own tongue, but he owes you his life. You defended him when he was struck down."

„You weren't there."

„I know the stories. I know how you stood over his wounded body and fought every orc and goblin that tried to finish him off. I know you were badly injured yourself. I know you still wouldn't yield."

„Katla. Stop."

She looked at his face, and she fell silent.

He hadn't done anything heroic. He had simply been desperate. All he could think of when he picked up his sword was Fíli. That he had to defend his brother's still faintly breathing body that lay crumpled in a puddle of blood like a puppet cut loose from its strings.

Her fingers gently pushed a strand of hair out of his face and caressed his cheek. When he opened his eyes she looked at him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. Her face was suddenly much too close, and he quickly turned his head so that her lips touched his cheek.

„You should rest." He avoided her touch and got up. „I'll come and visit again some time soon."

Outside the infirmary he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. He just should have kissed her. It wouldn't have hurt. Maybe it would even have done him some good.

It had been over twenty years since his last kiss. A teary, desperate kiss on the riverbank, a wrestling of tongues, a grabbing of hair, a suppressing of sobs. He had kissed as if his life had depended on it. In a way it had.

She had begged him to go with her. It had been the first time she had ever asked him for anything. And the first time he had denied her anything.

He didn't know how he got back to the Lonely Mountain that day. He always marvelled that he had made the journey without throwing himself down a chasm or falling into his own sword. Even now, he sometimes caught himself standing on one of Erebor's cliffs and thinking how easy it would be just to take another step and never feel that heart-wrenching pain again.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 **Author's note:**

For those of you who were wondering whether Tauriel will make an appearance:

 *****************SPOILER ALERT*************SPOILER ALERT*************

Of course, lovelies. She will enter the story some chapters later.

Stay tuned.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII.**

Encouraging his pony into a fast gallop, Kíli did not hesitate. He knew every rock, every path, every tree that grew on Erebor's lands. And he knew that this very instant, as his pony jumped over the fallen log next to the two big moss-covered boulders, he was crossing Erebor's border and entering the Woodland Realm.

It had been a full moon since his encounter with the orcs, and his brother still didn't want him to leave their lands. But Kíli's usual routine of supervising training, visiting the stables and armoury occupied him only so much. He read and signed reports and met with Fíli for their daily exchange, he sparred with Dwalin and occasionally his brother, he gave archery lessons to Fynn and Freya and even accompanied his Lady Mother to hideous social gatherings where they would always accidentally run into some unmarried lass she would introduce him to. He really needed to escape from all this.

Kíli steered his pony into the woods, the sound of its hooves swallowed by the thick soil covered in dry leaves.

Mirkwood had begun to change after the Battle. With the Dark Lord gone from Dol Guldur, the old forest had started breathing again, had become greener again, slowly returning to the Greenwood of old. But Kíli had not found it any friendlier. He had often travelled the old road that lead to Thranduil's Halls, but he still couldn't help glancing over his shoulder every now and then. He always had the distinct feeling, that the forest despised him. The deeper he entered the woods the less sunshine found its way through knotted branches and mighty tree crowns. The leaves rustled like angry birds' wings, thorny twigs got stuck in Kíli's hair, and his pony's hooves got caught in creepers. And although he didn't have to watch out for spiders any more, for the foul creatures had left the forest a long time ago, he couldn't help but remember his unlucky encounter with the arachnids. And the one who saved him. It happened every time he entered the woods, even when he took a detour to avoid passing the very spot where he laid eyes on Tauriel for the first time.

Sometimes his memory was so vivid he believed she was really there, appearing between the trees, her movements graceful and precise like a predator's, her hair flaming, her eyes green and wild like the forest she came from, her smile just for him. His heart was fighting in his chest then, like a trapped animal wanting to break free and rush to its owner.

He always felt relief when the forest would eventually let him go, when the road became wider and clearer and his pony would set foot on the bridge leading to Thranduil's Halls.

The guards recognised him and granted him access. Kíli nodded curtly and made his way to the smithy. Berenor stepped out of his hut when he he heard the clip-clop of hooves on the stone path.

„Kíli, Prince of Erebor! Nae saian luume, it has been too long. " The tall elf bowed deep, his fist on his heart. „May the trees forever guide you and the stars lighten your paths."

Kili dismounted and returned the official greeting with a deep bow himself. „Thank you, khuzsh. May strong stone shield you and rock readily offer its riches to you."

They gripped each other's forearm in a formal warriors' greeting, then Berenor smiled.

„To what do I own the pleasure of your visit, mellon?"

„Boredom." Kíli laughed. „Nosiness. Pick one. How are the bows faring?"

„You will be pleased", the elf promised. „I have tested your design myself and found your changes to the weapon intriguing. I have finished the first samples, and would like to keep one for myself, if you will allow."

„It would be my honour. But I fear you are way too tall to make it work properly. No offence intended."

The elf tilted his head. „None taken. But I have not spent a thousand years as archer and weapons' smith not to know a good design when I see one. I intend to adapt it to my size. Do you want to give one of the bows a try?"

He fetched a bow from inside the smithy and handed it over to Kíli. The wood felt smooth and firm in his hands, it was slightly flexible yet strong. His fingers traced the Khuzdul runes for loyalty, honour and a willing heart engraved in the wood before they followed the curved wood of the bow's tip and came to rest on the metal hooks that held the bowstring. Unconventional, yes, but he believed the shorter string and curved ends would allow a fiercer shot while giving the weapon itself more sturdiness. The bow was shorter than the one he usually used and less lightweight. It wouldn't shake like a leaf when being used on horseback in full speed and it wouldn't snap when the rider let themselves fall to the ground and roll into a shooting stance. Kíli pulled the bowstring that felt strong and hard in his grip. It demanded quite a lot of strength. Arrows shot from such a string would fly farther than those fired off a common bow and impale their targets like spears. The other difference to common bows was the lack of an arrow rest that would allow the archer to shoot their arrows at different angles. He nodded approvingly.

Berenor handed him an arrow, specially made for the new bow. A short, thick shaft with three feathers attached and a heavy but sharp arrowhead. Kili nocked the arrow, drew back till his shoulder sent him the short, sharp pain that told him he was aiming just right and let the arrow loose. It swooshed past the hut and buried itself deep into the faraway target. Kili smiled broadly and held out his hand for a second arrow.

By the time he had shot ten arrows in the target's centre, so close that their feathers were torn and ripped off their shafts, his grin nearly split his face. This weapon exceeded his expectations by far.

„Let's try the weapon in earnest."

„I will not perform as a living target if that is what you have in mind", the elf said, his face stern.

Kili laughed. „I would prefer elves other than you for that task." He was thinking of a particular displeasing high elf of Thranduil's court who was always offering badly masked insults and had a way of looking down his small nose at him that made Kili always want to just cut it off.

„I am humbled by your mercy and your wisdom."

„You should be." Kili mounted his pony. „And when I return you hopefully will be humbled by my unique archer's talent. Heya!"

He spurred his pony into a fast canter, lifted his new bow, aimed and shot. The arrow went right through the target, sending straw and feathers flying. Kíli whooped in delight and sent another one right after before stopping his mare just in front of the elf, sending stones flying.

Berenor didn't flinch. „I assume you are satisfied?"

„Perfect! You've outdone yourself, khuzsh. Thank you!"

He slid off his pony and clapped the elf on the shoulder.

„I am pleased that my work meets your approval." Berenor made an inviting gesture. „Do you have time to share a goblet of wine?"

Kili grinned and nodded. He had once or twice tried to take Berenor on in a drinking game and always ended up as pissed as Durin's ram while the elf still stood upright and seemed shockingly sober. Still, one or two glasses of wine couldn't do much damage.

He made himself comfortable in the smithy, feeling at home between the blacksmith's fire, anvil and hammers. It reminded him of Thorin, of how Fíli and he had watched their uncle tame the red-hot iron with mighty strokes of his hammer. Of how safe they had always felt in his company, of how much they had wanted to be like him, to make him proud.

„How's it going in Mirkwood?"

Berenor shrugged. „All is well. I spend my time in the smithy and supervising the armoury. There is not much diversion, nor chances to leave the realm."

„I know of what you speak. But tending to the Woodland realm's armoury cannot be half as boring as Council Meetings where the majority of dwarves are way over two hundred and forty years old."

Berenor arched an eyebrow in surprise.

„In dwarven years, that is old, my friend. White beards and ear trumpets and nose hair dipping in their ale."

The elf suppressed a laugh.

Kíli grinned. He had made it his aim in life to draw a laugh out of an elf, but his scores weren't running very high. Berenor was only the forth success in four decades. Or did the numerous times when Tauriel had burst into spontaneous laughter at one of his poor jokes count for more than one? Did her delighted giggles count when his lips and stubbly chin brushed the silken skin of her belly?

He cleared his throat, forcing the image of a naked she-elf on his bed out of his mind. Still, he couldn't help but ask.

„Any news of…?"

„No. I am sorry."

Kili emptied his goblet and shrugged.

Berenor refilled it, suddenly looking very stern. „Is it true dwarves are planning to retake Moria?"

Kili spluttered wine on his leathers. „What? Where did you get that idea from?"

Berenor touched the tips of his ears. „Advanced hearing, mellon-nin. When last I visited Erebor your soldiers had no other topic. You should tell them not to speak of secrets when an elf is near."

Kili let out a string of Khuzdul curses. He would order his men to do extra rounds of push-ups. And stable-cleaning. Maybe even mouse-catching in the mines.

„It is a mere idea at the moment, nothing more."

„It should stay an idea."

„Khazad-dûm is one of the oldest of the dwarven kingdoms. We cannot allow it to remain in the hands of orcs."

„A Balrog resides in Moria. The kingdom and all its riches is forever lost."

„That is what everybody said of Erebor", He replied stubbornly. „But the dragon was driven out and killed. Erebor and Dale are rebuilt and prospering."

„A dragonslayer killed Smaug." Berenor reminded him. „Without the late King Bard – what would have become of Dale and Erebor I wonder?"

„I… We… It…" Kili cursed. „You sound exactly like my brother!"

„The King doesn't approve then?"

„No, dammit, he does not. But I think we should at least try. We just have to be careful not to wake Durin's Bane."

„It is already awake."

„I am aware of the danger lingering in Khazad-dûm. But I still think it can be done. Bofur, our Chief Miner, thinks we could close off those Mithril mines that run too deep into the heart of the mountain."

„You do not just close a door in a Balrog's face to get rid of it."

„We are not just closing a door. We intend to completely blast the lower levels. Tons of rock will barricade the deep mines."

„But there is still the matter of Moria being seized by giant orc forces and hordes of goblins."

„We'll drive them out." Kili bared his teeth. „Kill the damn things and get it over with."

„Their number will be too great, mellon. Once you enter the mines of Moria, you will be doomed."

Kíli silently shook his head. As much as he trusted Berenor, he could not tell him of the scouting party Dwoss had sent into Kahazad-dûm. They were expected back at Erebor any time now, hopefully bringing news that the orc forces had thinned out since the Battle, just as Dwoss predicted.

„Those orcs are enemies to be reckoned with", Berenor said solemnly. „You must know of the danger if you want to lead your soldiers into the mines of Moria."

„I won't. Balin will command the force."

Berenor looked puzzled.

„Lord Balin? But isn't he…" The elf wrinkled his forehead. „… old?"

Kili laughed heartily. „Yes, my friend, he is. But he is a warrior still and a good leader."

„I thought you wanted to go."

„I do. But apart from the fact that my kingly brother is determined to keep me in the mountain, I would only join the quest."

„Humble."

„Nah. I'm not a leader. I am a warrior. Better at beheading than at heading."

Berenor poured himself some more wine. „Dwarven humor", he said with a grin. „Only to be tolerated with a certain degree of intoxication."

„I'll drink to that!" Kili lifted his goblet.

„Such a merry gathering."

A cool voice made Kíli turn and spill some of his wine.

Berenor paled at the sight of his king standing in the doorframe. He leapt to his feet and bowed deep.

Casually, Thranduil entered the smithy, his flawless silver cloak flowing around him like water. Not even casting a glance at Berenor, the elven king stopped in front of the dwarf, and his dark brow furrowed ever so slightly at the sight of Kíli's tainted travel leathers, his scarred boots and the stained sleeve which he had self-consciously used to wipe drops of red wine from his lips.

„Kíli, Prince of Erebor. Greetings." The elven king tilted his head in a mock-bow. His silvery hair rippled on his shoulders.

Kíli replied the gesture. „King Thranduil. Your presence does me honour."

„Indeed, it does. When the guard reported that you had entered my realm, I did not expect to be neglected in favour of a mere weapons' smith. Tell me, Kíli of Durin's line, what do you find so fascinating about lowly Silvan elves that you always seek their company?"

Thranduil turned towards Berenor who tried to melt into the wall of his smithy.

„You should be careful. This particular dwarf has an uncanny ability of making Eldar disappear. He has cost me two of my dearest already. I would be most unhappy if you were to vanish as well. You have poor taste in your choice of company, but you are an excellent smith after all."

Berenor's head sunk even lower, and Kíli gritted his teeth.

It had been because of him that Legolas Thranduilon had left Mirkwood, something the elven king would never forgive nor forget. Nor would he forgive or forget the fact that Tauriel had openly opposed him and chosen a dwarf over her king, over the prince. Legolas had been in love with her. She hadn't seen that, but Kíli had. He had known right from the start. It had been part of the fun. Part of why he had flirted with the elf, had made her talk to him, giggle at his jokes – the look of disdain the sophisticated blond elf had given him. Later, he had been desperate. He had fallen so hard for Tauriel that his heart was about to break every time she looked at Legolas and not at him. He would have done anything to make her choose him and not the pretty prince. Nearly dying on the battlefield had eventually done the trick.

Thranduil had never approved of their liaison, and if it hadn't been for Fíli's persuasive talents and the handing over of a certain necklace made of the white gems of Lasgalen, the elven king would never have given his blessings.

In a disturbing gliding movement, Thranduil approached the young dwarf, and his hand closed round the back of Kíli's neck, his white, long fingers slid through the dark hair like snakes. Kíli felt cold fingertips rest on his throat. He forced himself not to recoil but to stand erect and return Thranduil's cold gaze without blinking.

„You think Smaug was terrible, dwarf? The drake that invaded your kingdom, killed everybody in its wake, the dragon your kin wasn't able to defeat?" Thranduil whispered. „A Balrog of Morgoth is a foe far more terrible than a firedrake. It does not only kill and conquer. It grinds souls, it extinguishes memories, it destroys the very essence of its prey. It doesn't just turn the world into darkness, it is darkness itself, a fiery, burning darkness that has yet to be defeated. An evil of the ancient world, both shadow and flame."

The fingers lifted from Kíli's neck, and Thranduil stood tall again, the shine of the smithy's fire reflecting in his ancient eyes.

„Trust dwarves in their greed to unleash a Balrog of Morgoth unto Middle Earth. To bring suffering to our world for what little Mithril is left in Moria's mines."

„We will do no such thing."

„You plan to enter the mines of Moria, do yo not?"

„If we did, it would be to reclaim a kingdom. We would engage in such a quest solely for honour, not for Mithril."

„I have never seen dwarves put honour in a scale, very unlike gold, or gems, or Mithril."

„Because honour is earned, not sold."

Thranduil looked down on him. „What do you know of honour?"

Kíli smiled sweetly. „I know that the Woodland realm's king would not be ally to those lacking honour."

A small smile crept on the elf's lips. „You are right. He would not. That is why our alliance is bound to fail, just like every alliance between the Children of Ilúvatar and dwarves has failed in the past. I have been witness to more than one instance of treachery and ill-doing by Aule's children. I remember those days well, I remember that elves would do more than one favour to dwarves, despite being ill-rewarded." He tilted his head, his pale blue eyes resting on dark ones. „I may even do you one now, Kíli, who is called mellon en' quessir, friends of elves. Your ancient dwarven kingdom of Khazad-dûm is home of thousands of orcs and goblins. But that is not all. Black sorcery holds Moria in its grip, her gates will only open for creatures of darkness."

„We will force them open."

„Of course you will. And you will unleash the terror that lingers inside. An elf, of course, would know where to look for a hidden door." Thranduil's face was a mask of indifference. „In the old days, elves would forge secret doors for their allies and secure them with a spell. Doors that could not be detected by any other than the Eldar or those who they call friends. Friendship was rated highly in those times, calling upon a friend would grant you entrance and maybe save your life. Nevertheless, it will be dangerous to enter Moria."

The elven king turned to leave, his cloak gliding over the floor like fluid silver. Before he stepped out of he door, he looked back over his shoulder one last time.

„But you don't have to travel to the Misty Mountains to encounter danger, Kíli of Erebor. The orcs of the Grey Mountains are on the move, and they are whispering your name."

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 **Merry Christmas, everyone!**


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII.**

„They have returned, my Lord. The scouting party is back!" The groom beamed at him as he took the reins of Kíli's pony and lead it towards the stables. „They arrived no more than half a bell ago, all three of them. I tended to their ponies, and they're all in good shape. Really, they appear as though, instead of making the journey over the Misty Mountains, they had two weeks of grazing."

The three warriors hand-picked by Dwoss for the scouting party stood in front of the throne, their armour slightly battered and stained with black blood.

„… seems they have abandoned the mines," one was saying as Kíli entered the Hall.

„There are still orcs in Khazad-dûm, mind you." Another one was addressing the King, Balin and Dwoss now. „But they are no match for our forces. Half-starved sorry creatures, those."

He grinned and unwrapped a bundle, letting its contents roll over the intricate mosaic. The orc's head collided with the King's throne and came to rest at Fíli's feet. Fíli looked down at the severed head that appeared to be nothing more than a skull covered with grey leather.

„That one doesn't look very impressive. When King Thror tried to reclaim Khazad-dûm our army was attacked by Gundabad orcs. I cannot image them abandoning the mines. Are you sure that the orc forces are thinned out?"

„Positive. We went deep down into the mines."

„How did you get in?" Kíli asked.

The dwarf laughed. „We didn't knock, if that's what you mean."

„I meant exactly what I said. How did you get in? Which gate did you use?"

„Went right into the Front Gate." The warrior smiled broadly.

„The Front Gate? Are you sure? What about the spell?"

„What spell would that be, lad?" Balin addressed Kíli curiously.

„King Thranduil told me that the gates of Khazad-dûm are under a dark spell, allowing entrance only to creatures of darkness. No dwarf would be able to enter the mines through those gates."

„Are you saying you don't believe them? You give more credibility to a treacherous elf than trusted dwarven warriors?" Dwoss glared at Kíli.

„You have been to the Woodland Realm?" Fíli asked.

„I came back just now. Thranduil told me about the spell. And he said there was another way in, a secret door secured by elven magic."

„Of course. It's always elves with you." Dwoss rolled his eyes.

„You have been to the Woodland realm." Fíli repeated, his voice very calm.

„Yes. And Thranduil…"

Fili ignored him. „I ordered you to stay in Erebor, just for a while. But you went into Mirkwood."

„And it was good that I did. Thranduil told me…"

„Maybe I didn't express myself properly. Which part of not leaving Erebor didn't you understand?"

Kíli sighed. „Every single bit. Why should I not pay a visit to our allies?"

„Because you might encounter danger on the way. Because I told you not to."

„There is more at stake than me leaving our lands."

„I ordered you to stay."

„If Thranduil is right, Khazad-dûm cannot be entered. If he speaks the truth, it is still swarming with orcs."

„If?" Dwoss raised an eyebrow. „If? You make such a commotion, you accuse loyal soldiers of not speaking the truth for some elvish babbling you don't even believe yourself?"

Kíli shook his head. „That's not what I said. Thranduil warned me against entering the mines. I think we need to take that seriously. The lives of many good soldiers may depend on it."

„Do you trust the elven king?" Balin's gentle eyes rested on him, and Kíli shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

„No," he eventually said. „But…"

„That is settled then." Dwoss crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

„No, it's not!" Kíli felt anger bubble up. „How can you be sure your scouts even travelled to the Misty Mountains? Maybe they spent the whole time in a tavern. Their ponies didn't even look as though they made the journey."

One of the scouts turned, his face red with anger. „Because we left them at the foot of the mountain! The High Pass is too dangerous for ponies."

Balin nodded in agreement.

Kíli ignored them. „We will send another scouting party, and this one I will lead myself."

„No, you won't." The King's voice was sharp.

„Pardon me?"

„You will stay at Erebor. As you should have today."

„Dammit, Fíli. Don't be such a pigheaded ass."

„Shut up!"

„I was just…"

„Quiet!"

Kíli shut his mouth and stared at his brother. Fíli's hand was trembling slightly as he dismissed the party. The three dwarrows bowed to the King and retreated, not without glaring at the Prince. Balin and Dwoss followed suit, leaving the brothers alone in the big hall.

„You promised me you would stay," Fíli said eventually. „Instead you ride into Mirkwood. It is still a dangerous place."

„Nothing happened."

„You openly defy my orders. You call me an ass in front of Council members and soldiers. I am not only your brother, I am your King."

„I didn't mean anything by it. I am sorry."

Fíli sighed. „You always are. Why can't you at least think once before acting? Why can't you listen to me?"

„How about you listening to me? I am your right hand, Advisor to the King. And I tell you I don't trust Dwoss and his smug scouts. I don't trust Thranduil either, but there is more to Khazad-dûm than meets the eye. You should bloody listen to me."

Fíli massaged the bridge of his nose.

„You are right, I should. And I agree, there is something about Khazad-dûm that bothers me too. I can't put my finger on it, but every time I look at Balin, I have the feeling he will not return. I see those soldiers who leave my forces to accompany him and it feels as if I look at the dead."

His throat suddenly dry, Kíli looked at his brother. „Did you tell Balin?"

„He won't listen."

„How many soldiers is he taking?"

„Five hundred contracts have been signed."

„That is over a third of our forces! Erebor will be nearly defenceless!"

„That's why we need your cavalry. Your archers."

„You'll get them." Kíli kneaded his lower lip. „But let me lead another scouting party into the Misty Mountains. Just to be on the safe side."

„I need you to stay at Erebor. She must be able to withstand an attack, even with reduced forces. Send someone you trust instead."

„Katla."

„Would have been my choice as well. Tell her to leave as quickly and quietly as possible. Assign whoever else you think fit to join her party." He massaged his temples. „Could you do me a favour and spend some time with the little ones? I promised to take them riding, but I have to meet an emissary from Dale."

Fili looked exhausted, much older than he should, as he sat on the giant marble throne, his broad shoulders slightly hunched. The weight of the mountain, Kíli thought. So much responsibility, so many lives. He bit his lip and left. He would not tell his brother of the other thing Thranduil had said to him, no matter how much it unsettled him. Fíli had enough to worry about.

–––

As soon as Kíli stepped out on the corridor, Dwoss appeared at his side.

„My Lord Prince?"

„What do you want?"

„To ask your forgiveness. I should not have questioned you, that is not my place." Dwoss bowed slightly. „I know you don't mistrust our scouts. I know as the King's Advisor you have to get to the bottom of things."

He produced a silver flask and offered it to Kíli. „Will you share a drink with me, my Lord? As a sign that we are good?"

Kíli took the flask and brought it to his lips, but shuddered at the smell. Thick, dusty and yet sharp with an odour of old socks. It was the same brew that he had found so disgusting before, and he handed back the offending drink without taking a sip.

„Are you trying to poison me?"

„Too strong for your taste?"

„Too gross." He returned the elder dwarrow's rather forced grin and headed for the library.

When he stepped into the large hall with its massive bookshelves and ladders and desks and silver runes decorating the marble walls, Fynn was pretending to ride a pony on the back of a chair.

„That is no behaviour in a bibliotheca," the librarian said to Fynn, who was whooping now. „What have I told you about the silence necessary for reading?"

„I am sorry." Fynn blinked. „But I was practicing. Da is going riding with us!"

„Sorry, lad. He is busy."

Freya pulled a face. „He is always busy."

„He sent me instead. We can do something fun."

„Remember you have to do your homework," Eyra said. She shot Kíli a glance. „I am sure your uncle will see to it. He promised not to keep you from your duties."

„Unca Kee is going to let me ride Frosti first."

„Frosti is not broken in properly."

„But… I can help you. I'm a good rider."

„I know you are. But Frosti is still too wild, lad."

„But I wanna!" Fynn broke into a wail. „You said we could do something fun!"

Kíli rolled his eyes. „Calm down. Maybe you can really help me."

His nephew had a way with ponies, and light-weight as the small dwarfling was, Frosti would probably accept him more readily than a full grown dwarf.

The wailing stopped instantly. Fynn nodded eagerly. „I can, unca."

After a quick lunch and a game of tag in the yard, he fetched Frosti and put Fynn in the saddle.

„You must remember that he is not yet used to a rider. We are teaching him to accept one, you understand?"

„'Course." Fynn patted the white stallion's neck. „He likes me. I will be fine, unca."

Frosti, who had been prancing nervously, seemed to be calmed by Fynn's little hand stroking his coat and mane. So Kíli took the rope he had attached to the young stallion's bridle and led the pair out on the training field.

„Let him just walk, help him relax. That's it! Whenever you feel he is ready, try to gently press your heels in his side. Encourage him to speed up just a little. Ask him for a trot. Make yourself really light, Fynn. Grab his mane."

He watched Frosti breaking into a trot at the lunge line. Fynn seemed to be glued to the saddle and was smiling broadly.

„That is perfect! We'll let him do some more rounds."

„I beg your pardon." Eyra appeared suddenly behind the fence, holding a book.

Frosti's nostrils widened and he eyed the lass, whose skirts were flapping in the wind.

„I am busy right now."

„Ori said I should give that volume to you." She waved with the big book just as the pony was passing. Frosti shied.

„Don't do that!"

Fynn cooed soothing words and patted Frosti's neck.

„All right. Sorry." She waved again. Her cloak billowed.

„Stop that!"

Frosti reared. Kíli cursed. The white in the stallion's eyes was showing as the librarian shrieked and jumped back. Frosti started to buck, Kíli shortened the rope but it was no use. The pony was a mass of flying hooves and angry bucks. The dwarfling on his back held on for dear life.

„Fynn! Relax! Don't push your legs in his sides!"

Too late. Fynn was bucked off violently and landed with a crash and a strangled cry before his body went limp.

Kíli rushed to his side. Fynn lay in a heap of limbs and didn't move. Blood trickled from the back of his head.

„I'll get the healers!" Eyra turned and ran.

Kíli felt for Fynn's pulse, stroked his face with trembling hands, and it took him a while to register the crying next to him. He turned round to see Freya, pale and shaking and weeping. He hugged her in a tight embrace.

„He's going to be fine, Freya. The healers will see to it. It was only a fall."

Over and over again he told her, told himself, whispered to Fynn to please, please, open his eyes.

Graurr arrived with a bunch of healers and a stretcher, Hrynn and Fíli at his heels. Freya freed herself from Kíli's embrace and flew into her mother's arms. Fíli, pale-faced and wide-eyed, was struggling to get to his son while the healers pulled up Fynn's eyelid and palpated his skull. Finally Graurr allowed the still unconscious boy to be placed upon the stretcher and carried back to the infirmary. Hrynn and the still weeping Freya trailed close behind.

Fíli turned to his brother who was still kneeling and trying to tuck loose hair behind his ears with hands that trembled too much to accomplish the task.

„Are you out of your mind? You let Fynn ride a wild pony?"

„It's not, it's… Mahal. I am sorry. I didn't think…"

„No, you didn't. You never think, do you? Because I am always clearing up your mess and I am tired of it. Grow up." Fíli stared down at him with eyes that were cold and blue and frightened. „Pray Fynn will survive and be well, Kíli. Pray."

Fíli turned and walked away, leaving his brother behind.

He buried his face in his hands and let out a shaky breath.

„Catch your pony. Please." A small voice made him look up. The lass stood at his side and gestured desperately to Frosti who had got himself entangled in the rope and was bucking in panic. Blood dripped from his mouth and his side.

„Horses frighten me. I cannot catch him. If you don't he will hurt himself even more, the poor beast."

He got up and after some fruitless attempts managed to get hold of his stallion.

„Easy, boy." He stroked the trembling pony's neck and carefully loosened the rope and the saddle girth, removing the saddle from Frosti's back. He checked the horse for injuries but found only abrasions.

„How is he?"

„Fine."

„I am so sorry!" Eyra started to weep. „It was my fault. The little prince is hurt, your pony…" She wept harder.

„It's not your fault. I should have known better."

Her shoulders were shaking, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

„Calm down," he said and patted her arm soothingly. She sobbed and flung her arms around his neck, her soft body pressed against his. Kíli put his arm awkwardly around her small waist.

„Don't fret. It's going to be alright. You will see."

He tried to free himself from her grip but she wouldn't let go.

„I have to get the pony into the stables."

She sniffed. „Of course. I am sorry. I am so sorry." She started weeping again.

„Come." He put his hand on the small of her back and steered her towards the stables, where he left Frosti in the care of the groom and offered Eyra, who was still sobbing, a seat in the tack room.

„Try to calm down, lass. Have a drink."

He took a bottle of spirits from a shelf, poured a little into a glass and offered it to the shaking librarian.

„No, I couldn't!" She looked at him with teary eyes. „It is unseemly for the Prince to serve a librarian."

„Durin's ass." She hadn't found it unseemly to scold him but wouldn't accept a drink now? He impatiently poured a second glass. „The Prince orders you to drink with him. And to calm down." He needed to get to the infirmary and check on Fynn as quickly as possible. If only Eyra would stop weeping.

Her hand hovered over his glass, and the big, shiny ring on her finger caught his eye. He took her hand to inspect the jewel. It opened and revealed an empty bowl.

„A poison ring, from Ered Mithrin if I'm not mistaken. Haven't seen one of these in a long time. It is valuable, where did you get it?"

She withdrew her hand. „I inherited it from my mother."

„Her family came from the Grey Mountains, then? The historians always said no one survived when the orcs took over the mines. Where did you grow up?"

„North."

„For hundreds of years there has been no dwarven settlement further north than Erebor. Not since the Grey Mountains were conquered by orcs."

„We… didn't… live in a settlement. It was just my parents, my brother and me."

„Where are they now?"

She swallowed and began to cry again. „Dead. Eik, my brother, he…" She wept harder, and Kíli bit his lip.

„I am sorry." He patted her hair. „Come on, drink. It will do you good."

He poured down his own drink and shuddered. Was that the same brew Dwoss carried around in his flask? It tasted exactly the same, thick, dusty, with the distinct taste of old socks.

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 **Happy New Year!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you all for your encouraging and amazing reviews!**

 **I know the story is demanding with its many lines of action, OC's, and dark stuff going on. But it will make sense, I promise. And a certain elf will meet a certain dwarf again. Just be patient for a little while longer.**

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 **IX.**

„Do you think the King will punish me?"

Kíli stared at the sniffing librarian. „Why would he?"

„Because the little prince fell from the pony. I startled the animal."

„It wasn't your fault. I should not have allowed Fynn to ride a horse that is not broken in properly."

„He fell. There was so much blood." The tears were flowing again.

His head was aching suddenly and Kíli got up. It was his duty to care for the lass, but he needed to know how Fynn was. The memory of his still form, of blood in his blond locks made Kíli feel sick.

„Let's check how he is faring."

She nodded and followed him to Erebor's gate when a sudden, sharp pain made his leg give way.

A surprised, pained yelp escaped his lips, and Eyra rushed to his side.

„What is wrong with your leg?"

„Old wound. Troubles me sometimes. Nothing…" He suppressed a groan. „Nothing to worry about."

„Are you sure? You are very pale. Shall I help you?"

A new wave of pain left him nauseous, and he knew he wouldn't be able to walk without assistance. So he grunted his approval and let her take his arm. With her aid he managed to limp down into the mountain, putting more and more weight on her shoulders until she staggered.

„Sorry." He panted. „We should stop for a moment."

He leaned his back against a wall and closed his eyes.

„Were you wounded?"

„Was hit by a Morgul arrow," he confirmed. „Long time ago."

„But they are deadly. Turn you into wraiths in no time!"

„I was lucky. I was healed."

„Healed? But… I don't know of anybody who can heal such a wound."

„Elves."

„An elf healed you?"

„The elf."

„What is that supposed to mean? Why would an elf heal a dwarf?"

He stared at her from under his shaggy hair. „Don't tell me you are the only one in Erebor who doesn't know."

„Know what?"

He sighed. „A she-elf healed me, and I married her."

„What? You are married… to an elf?" Amber eyes watched him in shock. „That is disgusting."

„Yes, thank you. A comment like this is always welcome."

She stepped back and eyed him critically. „Why? Why would you marry an elf? You are a dwarven prince!"

He laughed, a little hysterically. „Why do you think? Because I loved her."

„But… an elf!"

He grunted.

„Where is she now?"

„Gone."

„As in dead?"

„No, as in gone away and leaving me behind."

„She didn't love you then."

„She loved me."

„If she did, why did she leave you?"

„Because all those stupid, hostile, single-minded dwarves like you made life in Erebor unbearable. Because I was an idiot to let her go."

„You think she will come back?"

„No."

„But you love her still?"

„Yes, I do." He hung his head. He loved her. And he hated her. And he didn't want to think about her.

He let himself slide down the wall and sat on the floor, his aching leg stretched out. Eyra sat down next to him.

„I am sorry about what I said."

„I have suffered worse, believe me."

„But you shouldn't. Not because of love, you should not suffer insults because of something as wonderful as love."

„The majority of dwarves and elves thought otherwise," he said bitterly while he absent-mindedly massaged his hand.

 _It doesn't matter. I will weather it._ Tauriel had told him every time she had been tending to the broken skin of his knuckles after some dwarf had spat at her feet or some elf called her names. _I don't want you to fight for my sake._ But in the end his mother had been right. Gandalf had been right. Love didn't conquer all.

A wave of pain made him catch his breath. „Must go."

She helped him get up. He tried to take a step but couldn't without his leg giving way. He clutched her waist, his chin almost resting on her shoulder, his laboured breath hot and damp against her skin. A fragrance of lilac caught his nose, mingled with ink and parchment and a thick dusty scent. Her hair tickled his nose. Her reluctant embrace tightened, her fingertips stroked his back soothingly, and he felt himself relax a little.

„You must catch your breath. Then we will move on. Slow."

He nodded.

„I'm better. Let's go. I need to get to my chambers."

It took an excruciatingly long time, and they had to stop several times so Kíli could catch his breath, but eventually they made it to the Royal Wing.

„You should consult a healer."

He shook his head. „Just leave me. I can manage from here."

Forcing a reassuring smile on his face, he squeezed through the doors and made his way to his chambers. He didn't bother to remove his layers of clothing, just curled up on his bed and closed his eyes as the pain took over.

Fynn's pale face suddenly appeared in front of his eyes, the blood, his closed eyes. Mahal, please. He would suffer everything, but let the little one be well.

He lost track of time in the shivering of his body, the twisting of his tortured limb, the sobs escaping his hurting throat. He felt darkness creep up on him, the pain engulfed him like flames, red-hot and licking at his skin, burning his insides. His head was throbbing, the pounding sounded almost like Black Speech, cracking and booming like rolling thunder.

 _ **Gâsh-agh burzum. Krimpat. Thrakat.**_

The black voice filled his head, and Kíli hastily opened his eyes. He was in his chambers, he knew, but all he could see was fire. Fire and flames and a single, terrible eye watching him.

 _ **Gimbat. I bind you to Darkness. To fire. I command you.**_

The voice was loud, rippling through his head, rolling against his temples, hissing like a thousand snakes, thundering like an earthquake.

 _ **Kill.**_ _ **Kill the dwarf king. Kill his offspring.**_

„No," he croaked.

 _ **Obey, gûl. Kill them, open the mountain for me. Soak the stone with their blood, and you will be rewarded.**_

Kíli saw himself sitting on Erebor's throne, the raven crown on his head, dwarves kneeling at his feet. He felt satisfaction, the greed for power. The lust for blood. He saw Fynn lying on the ground, his blond hair covered in blood, his face deathly pale.

Kíli's stomach turned. He threw up.

 _ **Kill them,**_ the voice rumbled. The eye seemed to pierce his skull.

 _ **Obey my will! Spill their blood.**_

„No," he whispered. „Mahal, no, never."

He shivered and wept and tasted blood on his bitten lip, when his doors were opened.

„You are obviously not overly interested in your nephew's well-being since you never showed up at the infirmary to ask, but I will tell you nonetheless. Fynn is awake and well. He has a laceration and a mild concussion. He feels guilty because the pony bucked. I would not have come, but it appears the lad needs you to tell him he didn't do anything wrong."

Fíli entered his bedchamber and gasped.

„What in Mahal's name…?"

Kíli felt fingers brushing his sweaty hair from his face and opened his eyes.

„You tell him." He rasped. „Can't. 'm sorry." He groaned and curled up again, his hand clutched his burning leg.

„Durin's fucking beard." His brother climbed on the bed, held his trembling body and stroked his hair. „You need healers."

„No." He gripped his brother's wrist. „Don't want… No one must see."

„I'll get you something for the pain. So that you can sleep."

„No. Please. Nightmares. Voices. Can't."

Fíli got off the bed, and Kíli whimpered. His fingers searched for his brother and curled into the sheet instead.

„I am here." Fíli was back, putting a cool, damp cloth to his burning forehead. He wiped away the sweat and tears, tucked back the mass of tangled hair and pressed a cold mug to Kíli's lips.

„Drink some water. Just a little sip, it will do you good."

When he curled up again, Fíli was stroking his back, when his hand wandered to the old wound, Fíli would loosen his tense fingers and lay a gentle, cool hand on his thigh. When he dozed off and woke screaming, the black voice still in his head, Fíli would hold him tight. In the wee hours of the morning, Kíli finally fell asleep in his brother's arms.

He woke up with the sun in his face, still curled up in Fili's embrace.

„Feel better?"

„Yeah. I guess," he answered sleepy. „Have you been here all the time?"

„Of course."

„But Fynn!"

„He is with Hrynn. He is back in our quarters and very proud to sport four stitches."

„I am so sorry."

„He is a lad from Durin's line. He will get more lacerations and more stitches."

„But…"

„Forget it, please? I was frightened and said things I didn't mean. Why is your leg giving you so much pain all of a sudden?"

„Don't know."

„I bet you regret your heroic show-off at the water log now," Fíli tried to joke.

„I regret a lot of things." Kíli sat up and pushed his tangled hair out of his face. „We should never have left Ered Luin. None of this would have happened."

„We would not have reclaimed Erebor."

„Thorin would still be alive."

Fíli said nothing.

–––

„You wanted to give me a book yesterday?"

„Oh yes, of course." The librarian looked up from her writing. „I will fetch it immediately."

„No need. Finish your paperwork. I can wait."

He sat down at the table in front of her and stretched his faintly aching leg.

„How are you today?" He amber eyes, quite beautiful he realised, were worried.

„Much better, thank you."

„No, my Lord. Thank you. You have been very kind to me."

He grinned. „Not bad for an imbecile, huh?"

She blushed deeply. „I… My Lord…"

„Stop that nonsense. You nearly carried me to my chambers, I think we're beyond pleasantries."

„Thank you." Her smile was genuine. Then she took the quill and resumed writing.

Kíli's gaze wandered from the table to shelves of books, to covers decorated with gold and jewels to the flickering of candles, back to her light brown hair that reflected the light like hundreds and thousands of golden threads, to her lashes casting a shadow on her cheek, to her fingers holding the quill with grace, to the spidery writing on the parchment, to the line of her softly bearded jaw, to the smooth skin of her neck, to her rosy lips and quickly away.

What was he doing?

He concentrated on the quill and the ink, watched as words emerged and filled the page, an elegant dance of letters, an eternal roundelay, repeating its patterns and coming to rest only to start anew at the next line, the next page. His eyelids dropped.

„I am sorry, I should not keep you waiting." The hands put away the quill.

He looked up at the lass in surprise. „Are you finished?"

„No. But you nearly fell asleep. I will fetch the book for you now."

He took her arm. „No need. Please, sit down and finish your work."

„But you are tired."

He smiled. „Yes, I am. But I like to watch you."

Her eyes were round and astonished.

„Sorry. That sounds creepy. What I meant is, I like to watch you write, it is soothing."

„Soothing?"

He blushed. „Have trouble sleeping. Bad dreams. Watching you write is comforting somehow."

She got up and went to a bookshelf, extracted a volume and came back.

„You need this!"

„What is it?"

„Poetry!"

He stared. „Um. That is thoughtful of you, I think, but… I am not one for poetry."

„You will like this," she promised. „I just fetch the other book for you and then we can leave."

„Leave? We leave? Why?"

„I will read poetry to you and you will sleep."

„Pardon?"

She smiled. „Just wait."

She returned, the books tucked under her arm, and extended her hand. He took it reluctantly and let himself be dragged out of the library and down the dimly lit corridors.

„Where are we going?"

„We can't go to your chambers, obviously."

„That would be inappropriate."

He wondered what she was up to. She was still holding his hand, her fingers now intertwined with his.

„But I know the perfect place. Trust me."

She led him up stairways and through hallways and opened a door to the outer balcony.

„I come here sometimes to watch the stars."

„I know the place."

She turned and smiled. „I thought you might. I had a feeling you like to look at the sky. Sit down."

The small stone bench had just enough room for both of them, their shoulders squeezed uncomfortably together.

„Close your eyes and listen."

He did as he was told, his head rested against the cool stone.

She began to read, of wide fields and stomping of hooves, of terrible music sung by axes and swords, of flowers red. Kíli opened his eyes.

„You think, reading about a battlefield will soothe me?"

„It is a beautiful poem. Sad, yes, but beautiful."

„There is nothing beautiful about battle. There is only death and pain."

„But you are a warrior."

„Doesn't mean I have to like it."

„Then why…? Why are you?"

„What else can I be? I was trained a warrior. We had to reclaim Erebor, we had to defend and hold it. That is what I do. I fight for our kingdom."

„You would rather do something else? Be somewhere else?"

„This is my home. My uncle died for it."

„But… you?"

„I didn't die for it." He grinned, but it faded too quickly. „Only just."

She looked at him, silently, for a long while.

And then she kissed him. Soft lips pressed on his, a tickling of hair, a tender touch of the tongue. He felt himself melt into the kiss, felt his heart beat fast, felt the soft skin of her neck under his fingers, felt alive. Her quick breathing was on his skin when they broke apart, foreheads still touching, hands still embedded in each others' hair. Her lips brushed his forehead, her fingers stroke his cheek.

„Sleep now," she whispered.

His head rested in her lap, he smelled lilac and parchment, felt her fingers running through his hair, while she turned the pages with her other hand and started reading again. Kíli closed his eyes. He felt at peace for the first time in a long while.

––––

„Kíli, tell me something." Katla, who he had summoned and assigned to lead the scouting party, looked at him sternly. „Will you be joining the quest for Khazad-dûm? I need do know that before I leave."

He shook his head. „I will stay at Erebor. Balin has enough good men willing to enter the mountain. But we must know if the mines are still swarming with orcs. Balin has postponed the quest until you come back with news."

„I will see to that." She looked relieved. „Thank you for choosing me to lead the scouts. I appreciate your trust in me."

„You are the only one I would trust with that. Avoid the front gates though. A dark spell is supposed to be at work there, look for another way in. A secret door, protected by elven magic. You do remember the Sindarin phrases Balin told us at school in Ered Luin?"

„I think so. I will manage, don't worry."

He looked at her solemn face, at her bow slung over her shoulder, her axe on her back and the sword at her side, and couldn't help but smile. „I see you are well prepared to encounter orcs."

She grinned. „You trained me well."

He put a hand on her shoulder. „Be careful, do not put yourself in danger. I want you to return, promise me you will."

„Why?"

He chuckled. „Because I would miss you."

„You would? Really? I thought you were quite occupied with a certain librarian."

He felt himself blushing. „What do you mean?"

„You were seen snogging. Really, Kíli. You have bad taste when it gets to females. First a bloody elf, and now… her! Keep away from that librarian, she is not good for you."

„It's none of your business."

„You are Durin's heir. Show a little more pride in your blood. Pick a dam who is worthy of you."

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„Gâsh-agh burzum. Krimpat. Thrakat." is Black Speech and translates as „Fire and darkness. Bind (you). Force (you)."

Gimbat = (I) found (you).

Gûl = wraith

XXXXXXX

 **A/N:** Yes, he kisses someone else. He should not. I know that. He knows that. But he is lonely. And it is vital to the story.


	10. Chapter 10

**X.**

„Where are you taking me?"

„It's a surprise. Just wait and see."

„Kíli, please."

„No."

Eyra sighed, and he grinned.

„Is it taking long?"

„We're nearly there."

„I am hungry already!"

„You are always hungry. That's why I brought food." He gestured to his saddlebags.

„Mahal, I love you."

His heart stuttered. He looked at Eyra who was looking back at him with a slightly panicked expression on her face that rapidly turned crimson.

„Sorry. That came out a little to quickly. Just a saying, you know. Someone does something nice and you answer like that. Mahal, I'm babbling."

„Yes, you are." He grinned. „Don't worry, I got the meaning."

„Thank you. I would say I love you for that, but you know… Mahal. I'm doing it again. What is wrong with me?"

„Nothing. You are perfect. Relax."

„Thank you," she smiled, relieved. „I never thought it could be like that. So easy. You are so much more than I thought."

He chuckled. „You thought me a half-wit."

„I'm sorry."

„It's fine. I thought you were a dried-up, malicious hag."

„I beg your pardon?"

He shrugged. „Turned out I was wrong."

„Where are you taking me?"

„There is a little place at the riverbank I want to show you. It's such a beautiful summer's day. We will have a picnic, maybe go for a swim."

„A swim? You and I and… no clothes?"

His grin widened. „That was the general idea."

She stared at him, open-mouthed, and he cursed inwardly. He had been too bold. She was a librarian for Mahal's sake, a teacher, not a wild and confident wood-elf who would answer his advances with so much passion they would end up fooling around in the forest, barely hidden by the greenery, on their first walk after the battle. A togetherness that had been preceded by months of healing, where he was bedridden and unable to move without sickening pain, where she had never once left his side no matter how hostile Dís behaved. Months where he had marvelled that this beautiful creature had come to him, stayed with him, looked at him with her green, eternal eyes, touched his fingers and made him feel something else than agony. It had taken weeks even before their first kiss, and although to him it was bliss, and love, and warmth, and music, it must in truth have been awful. He could not move his head, or his arms, his lips were cracked and his tongue felt like an old rug. He was sure he smelled offensive, and he was painfully aware of the bucket of piss under his bed, but she had kissed him nonetheless. Her gaze had lingered on him, her breath had tickled his skin. All he could think of was to say her name in this desperate, cracked voice of his, her name like a prayer. _Tauriel_ , he had said, and a tear had rolled down his cheek. _Don't ever leave me_.

 _Never, a'melamin._

A painful sound formed in his chest and escaped through gritted teeth.

„Kíli?"

His head jerked up. „What?"

„You were somewhere else for a moment."

„Yes, sorry." He forced out a false laugh. „Sorry. I was joking. About the swim. You know that, don't you?"

„Of course." She watched him silently for a moment. „What were you thinking of just now?"

„Nothing."

He dismounted, went to Eyra's pony and stretched out his hand.

„My lady, may I assist you?"

„You may, my prince."

She slid into his arms, and he held her for a moment.

„What do you say? Like it?"

She looked around and smiled. „Beautiful. Perfect place for a picnic."

He laughed and opened the saddlebags to see what the cook had packed. Cold meat and bread and cheese, wine and apples, sweet cakes and grapes.

„Oh, Mahal. That looks gorgeous!"

„You should be the size of Bombur, going by how much you eat."

„Who's that?" She asked around a mouth of cheese.

„Our cook. Fattest dwarf I've ever seen. Joined Thorin's quest. He nearly was eaten by Trolls once."

She stared at him. „Trolls, really? No, you are making that up!"

„True story, I swear. Three ugly, smelly Cave Trolls wanted to eat our ponies and us."

„How did you escape?"

„Parasites. Mine were the biggest."

He winked. She blushed a little and half-turned her back to him to busy herself pouring him a goblet of wine. She fumbled with he cork and her ring before she finally succeeded and offered the drink to him. He took a gulp and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The wine tasted somewhat dusty, like smelly old socks. It had probably gone bad. The thought dissolved when Eyra leaned over, displaying a distracting amount of cleavage. She urged the goblet to his lips once more and watched him finish it, before she kissed him.

„How will this end?" She asked and rolled a strand of his hair around her finger.

„I have some ideas of how this could end," he murmured and tried to kiss her again.

She broke free. „I wasn't joking. I am the teacher of the King's dwarflings. And you are the Crown Prince of Erebor."

„Only until Fynn is old enough to claim the throne."

„You still will be Prince. And you are married!"

He groaned. „No, I am not. Damn. Yes, I am. Was. Am." Damn. Damn it.

„Do you love me?"

He opened his mouth to answer, and shut it again. Did he? He liked to be with her. He liked to kiss her, and he would even more like to bed her.

But did he love her?

Music and laughter filled his head, his brother standing on the table playing his fiddle, Bofur performing a strange and wild dance. Bilbo Baggins with foam from his ale on the tip of his stubby nose, smiling widely and telling a lengthy story of how he had to wander Thranduil's Halls in desperation. He had missed not only breakfast and second breakfast, but his elevenses and lunch as well until he finally got the dwarves out of their prison, because Tauriel was lingering outside Kíli's cell the whole time. A whirl of faces and sounds, and the beautiful elf at the centre, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed with Ereborian wine, her hands extended. And Kíli simply scooped her up in his arms, her long legs dangling at his side, her face at the crook of his neck and he kissed the breath out of her. He carried her out of the Hall, with the dwarrows cheering, all the way to their chambers, loosing most of their clothes on the way and making love on the floor in front of the fire. He remembered the flickering shine of flames on her creamy skin, he remembered watching her breathe in her sleep, he remembered looking at her and knowing she was his One. Amralimê. For now and for ever.

Damn.

A sudden wave of nausea washed over him.

„Kíli? You just turned white as a sheet! Are you feeling well?"

He grunted. His head suddenly felt as if it wanted to explode. His thigh began to throb angrily.

„No, I am not," he admitted. Bloody leg. Must be the elf's revenge, he thought. After all those years there was a lass he wanted to kiss and lie with, and his Morgul wound screamed out in protest reminding him of Tauriel, of her emerald eyes and gentle touch, of her voice chanting elvish words, of her spirit guiding him back into the light as her hands healed him.

He cursed and got up.

„I am very sorry, Eyra. But I must go back."

„Of course."

He mounted with difficulty, feeling nauseous again. Frosti's movements felt like daggers stabbing into his skin, and beads of sweat were dropping from his brow. The gnawing pain in his thigh worsened. He had to return to Erebor quickly, before he became unable to move altogether.

„Please, can we slow down?"

He steadied Frosti and looked over his shoulder.

Eyra was barely hanging on and looking scared. „Sorry, I'm a poor rider. I am afraid when they go too fast."

„No, I am sorry. We don't have to make such haste."

„Are you sure?"

He nodded. In truth he wasn't.

By the time they were approaching Erebor, Kíli had trouble staying on his mount. His vision was blurry, he felt like throwing up, and his leg was throbbing with the consuming white-hot pain he had suffered before. His headache had turned into a black hiss of foul and terrible words, like the rolling of thunder.

 _ **Kill, I command you, dwarf-scum. Kill the king. Kill his offspring. Your kingdom is mine. Erebor is mine. I will conquer all!**_

He felt like losing consciousness when Eyra put her arm around his waist and helped him walk from the stables to the gate. The voice was thundering in his head, the red eye was commanding him.

„You! Stop right there!" A voice made Eyra halt, and Kíli's legs nearly buckled.

His chin was lifted, watery blue eyes in a wrinkled, grey-bearded face looked at him with concern.

„Gandalf," he croaked.

The wizard brought his big nose close to Kíli's lips and sniffed.

„As I feared," he mumbled. „Worse than I feared."

He let go of Kíli's face, who struggled to stay upright, and made a sign towards the guards.

„Fetch the King. Tell him to meet me in the infirmary immediately. It may be a matter of life and death."

Without another word, Gandalf scooped Kíli into his arms and ran. When the wizard pushed open the door and entered, his grey robes billowing, Graurr and the other healers rushed towards him.

„What's the matter with the Prince?"

„He was poisoned. Not for the first time, I believe. We must act quickly." Gandalf looked from one gaping healer to the other. „Where is Oin?"

Graurr stepped forward. „Retired. Went back to Ered Luin with his brother. I am Chief Healer now."

„Retired? He was much younger than I, and do I think of retirement?" Gandalf grumbled. „Cannot be helped. You will have to assist me. But next time you take over a position from a renowned healer, pay more attention to him, you quack."

„More atten… What? Quack?" Graurr huffed and tried to shove the wizard out of the way but failed. „Who are you? The Prince is my patient. Let me tend to him."

„I am Gandalf, of course. Where is the Athelas?"

„Athelas? The elf weed?" Graurr produced a pot with powdered leaves. „What do you want with it?"

„Heal him, you fool." Gandalf snatched the pot and added water, mumbling something in a foreign tongue. He stirred the contents violently, while Graurr was putting a cold, damp cloth to Kíli's forehead and opened his collar to help him breathe.

 _ **Gâsh-agh burzum. Krimpat. Thrakat. Obey me. Kill the scum.**_

The voice was thundering in his mind. Kíli struggled against Graurr's hand that held him down.

„Poisoned, you said? What kind of poison?" The healer sniffed at Kíli's breath. „I am unfamiliar with the scent."

„Morgul poison," Gandalf answered darkly.

„Morgul…" All colour drained from Graurr's face. „Then he is doomed. There is nothing we can do."

„Nonsense. There is always something one can do. Ah!" The wizard's face lit up when Fíli entered. He looked disapprovingly at Graurr who had trouble pinning down Kíli's arms. „Why do you think Athelas is called Kingsfoil? Because it will perform miracles when touched by the hands of a king. You could have spared our lad here a lot of pain had you thought of that."

Kíli gasped for air, his hand reached out and grabbed his brother's collar.

 _ **Yes! Break his neck! Kill the king!**_

„No," he choked. Tears were running down his cheek. Not Fíli. Never Fíli.

 _ **Yes, him! Kill him. Rip out his throat, spill his blood. Take his place.**_

He shook his head desperately, his hand gripped his brother's tunic, his burning eyes stared into Fili's worried face, locked with gentle blue eyes that were now frightened. „Help me, Fee, please."

„He will." Gandalf freed Fíli from his grip, cut open the leg of Kíli's leather trousers and ordered Fíli to cover the old scar with the paste. As soon as the King's fingers massaged the salve into the skin, the burning lessened. The black voice screeched. Kíli cringed as the red, flaming eye flashed in anger.

„It is working already."

Gandalf lifted Kíli's head and made him take small sips of an infusion he had prepared with herbs from his pouch.

„The tea will make you feel better in a moment. Drink, carefully."

Kíli did as he was told and after a while, he managed to open his eyes. His vision was slightly blurred, and his brain felt strangely foggy. The pain was still there, but somehow subdued, he could still feel it but it seemed as if it wasn't able to harm him as badly as before. The voice in his head had turned to a muffled cacophony of angry hisses and rumbles that throbbed against his temples.

„Gandalf." Fíli sounded relieved. „I never thought you would come yourself. But I am beyond grateful that you did. You arrived just in time, it seems."

„A wizard is always on time." Gandalf put the empty cup on a table and turned to face Fíli. „As soon as the raven delivered your message I knew you were in dire straits and needed my aid. You can put your mind at rest. Now that I am here, everything will be well." He stroked his beard and smiled complacently, but when the door to the infirmary was pushed open violently, he jumped. Dwalin rushed in, out of breath.

„Orcs are attacking Erebor!"

„How many?" Fíli's face turned dark, he clenched his fists.

„Three or four hundred, they came down from the Grey Mountains. The archers are keeping them at bay. Could be a first wave, though. It is only sunset, there will be more when night falls."

„Secure the gates and parapets. Are the dwarflings and the old safe in the deep mines?"

„They are being taken into the safe caverns as we speak."

Fíli nodded. „See to it that the catapults and fires are ready. Staff the battle stands. Prepare the foot soldiers for a sortie and fetch those thrice-damned war pigs of Dain's. It's time for them to get their teeth into something more suitable than our tapestries." He gestured towards the healers. „Prepare the infirmary. Dwalin, saddle my horse, fetch my armour and weapons. No bloody orc will harm my kingdom!"

„Aye. You lead the sortie. But I will chop off the first twenty heads off them ugly buggers' necks. Just so that we are clear." Dwalin ran after him and looked back at Gandalf. „Are ye coming, or no?"

With flapping robes Gandalf followed the Weapon Master, mumbling something about crazy dwarves. Graurr ordered his healers to get the infirmary ready and take stretchers and bandages to the gates to treat those whose condition would be too critical. Kíli watched the healers run from one shelf to another and pick ointments, bandages, scalpels, even saws. No one was paying him any attention.

Carefully he rolled off the cot and slipped through the half open doors. Putting one foot before the other was more difficult than he had anticipated, and soon he was fighting for breath. The corridor was spinning as he slowly made his way to the rear gate, fighting nausea. More than once some running dwarf crashed into him, hastily stammering apologies and helping him to get up again before resuming their way. But even without being knocked over, Kíli found it increasingly difficult to keep upright. He would not be able to ride, that much was clear, but he still could join the archers. He picked a bow and arrows from the nearest armoury, regretting that his own fine weapon was unreachable in his chambers, and limped towards the battle stand right above the rear gate.

Squeezing his way through rows of archers who were shooting arrow after arrow, he eventually reached the parapet and draw in a sharp breath. This was not a mere raid, this was a battle.

Hundreds of orcs marched upon Erebor, war machines and Cave Trolls in their wake. The rain of arrows slowed them down, but for every one that fell two trod on their comrades' dead body and marched on.

An attack like this had never happened before, not since the Battle of the Lonely Mountain. They had suffered occasional raids but there had never been anything to worry about. Erebor was strong, her name instilled fear in the hearts of their enemies. Still, Kíli had always felt they needed to be prepared for times of battle. That was why he had installed archers, why he was training soldiers for a cavalry. But the cavalry wasn't ready yet.

Dwarves were no naturals on horseback, and training his men to ride and shoot had proven a lot more demanding that Kíli had thought. Progress was slow, especially now that the Master Archer was no longer supervising training. A full moon had passed, and Katla had not yet returned from her scouting trip into Khazad-dûm. Balin had become restless, he wanted to depart before autumn. Leading an army with supply ponies over the Misty Mountains was dangerous enough even before the first snowstorms.

Kíli felt a stab of guilt. Thranduil had warned him of Grey Mountain orcs on the march. Why hadn't he told anyone?

Pushing the thought aside, he readied his bow, nocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring. The pain from his shoulder, usually tolerable but now sharp and ugly, made him grunt as he let the arrow fly. Nevertheless, the next arrow was ready in an instance. He was half-way through his first quiver when his fingers started to tremble.

Suddenly the rows of rocs halted, parted and drew back in haste, as riders galloped out and circled round the attackers, their swords slicing through the orcs' armour, their hammers crushing bones. He could make out Dwalin's tattooed head amongst the riders, his war pig simply shoving the enemies out of the way. Those who were not trampled to death by the beast were cut down by Dwalin's two axes Ukhlat and Umraz. Foot soldiers were following, their heavy iron clad boots rumbling like an earth quake, their battle cries echoing from the mountain's rock like thunder. Fíli, the raven crown on his blond mane, his twin blades reflecting the light of the setting sun, cut his way through the enemy lines. He bellowed commands and rallied his troops to attack.

Kíli readied his bow again, but his arm was suddenly heavy and his shoulder refused to obey. He still managed to shoot, but the arrow's flight was much too short and it fell useless to the ground. He fumbled for another one, but his hand trembled so much he didn't even manage to nock it.

Another archer shoved him aside, took his place, without even casting a glance, and Kíli was grateful for that. The last thing he needed right now was one of his soldiers recognising him and his poor performance.

He withdrew to the side and steadied himself with his bow. His eyes followed Fíli on the battlefield, his heart yearned to be at his side, but his body betrayed him. He felt weak, barely able to stand. Everything around him seemed to spin. Before his legs could give way, Kíli retreated to the stairs leading down into the mountain, and leaned against the wall. The blood was rushing loud in his ears, and his head was spinning.

„Too early," a voice muttered. „They are attacking too early. The soldiers are not gone yet. Erebor's army is still too strong."

The voice, he knew that voice. Kíli peeped into the darkness of the staircase, but could not see the speaker.

„The Dark Lord has not yet overthrown him. How is it possible he is resisting _Him_?"

Using his bow as a crutch, Kíli slowly approached the dark stairs. He needed to know who had been speaking. But on the first step down his bad leg buckled and the bow skidded. Before he could fall, a hand grabbed his collar and yanked him back.

„What are you doing out here, stupid boy?"

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Gandalf's worried face.

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* I know that the Khuzdul word „Amralimé" is usually translated as „I love you". But I liked the idea of Amralimé as a concept. In this story it is an idiom for the love of one's life.

** Ukhlat and Umraz of course are Grasper and Keeper in Khuzdul


	11. Chapter 11

**XI.**

When he opened his eyes, he saw Dwalin holding Dís' hand and stroking her cheek with a tenderness that seemed impossible coming from those rough and scarred fingers.

Kíli closed his eyes again. He was obviously still asleep and had weird dreams.

„He is coming around."

He blinked.

„Son? Do you hear me?"

He sat up and looked at his mother, her face worried. Even Dwalin looked worried.

Why was he feeling as if being used as a punching bag by Trolls?

„What happened?"

„You were unconscious for hours. The wizard found you at the rear parapet."

The sound of arrows whirring, of swords and axes clanking. Screams, the pounding of feet. The stench of death. He remembered now. Orcs had attacked Erebor, a battle had been raging. He remembered their soldiers fighting the enemy off, his brother leading the troops.

He drew a sharp breath, his chest tight with worry. „Fíli?"

„He is well. He took an arrow, nothing to worry about." Dwalin smiled reassuringly.

„It was a dwarven arrow," Dís said sharply.

„Not uncommon in battle. Arrows were raining down from the sky, one could have gone astray easily."

Dís frowned at the old warrior, clearly not satisfied. But she let the matter rest. Dwalin was right. It was thoroughly possible an arrow had simply missed its target. The sky had been black with arrows. But somehow Kíli couldn't imagine one of his soldiers being so careless as to shoot when the king was in the line of fire. He would examine the arrow later, he decided. The archers marked their arrows in order to collect them after shooting. He would find out to whom it belonged and kick the wretched bowman in the balls who had injured his brother.

„The fighting was over before sunrise. The surviving orcs fled into the mountains," Dwalin continued.

„Casualties?"

„Too many."

„We will sing for thirty-four good soldiers who passed into the Halls of the Waiting." His mothers' sad eyes locked into his. „How are you feeling? You gave me quite a fright."

„Dizzy. Why?" He frowned. „Why are you sitting at my bedside? The two of you?"

„I… err…" Dwalin coughed. „Wanted to see how yer was doin'. I'm off, then."

Dís took the old warrior's hand. „Thank you."

Dwalin's cheeks coloured. „Yer welcome. Anytime."

Kíli looked from the Weapons Master, who was casting the Lady Dís one last affectionate look, to his blushing mother. He grinned.

Dís smacked him. „Stop smirking."

„You throw a hard punch for someone who claims to be worried about me." He massaged his arm. „Where is Fíli?"

„In the Throne Hall together with Balin, Dwoss and the wizard. Katla came back when battle was raging. She and her men joined the soldiers. She is reporting on her trip now."

„Katla is back?" He got up. „I must see her."

„You should stay in bed. You have been very sick."

Ignoring his mother, he dressed clumsily and fought off her hands when she tried to arrange the buckles of his tunic. Before she could attack him with a brush, he fled from his chambers.

„Kíli. Wait for me! Gandalf said we were not to leave you alone."

He rolled his eyes. „Gandalf is a nosy know-it-all. I am fine. Don't worry, mum."

„But I am worried. I nearly lost you once already."

He drew her into a quick embrace and kissed her forehead. „Don't fret. It takes more to finish me off than… whatever it was."

„Poison, Kíli. It was poison."

He stared at her, disbelieving. Somewhere at the back of his head a memory tried to fight its way through the dizziness. Yes, Gandalf had spoken of poison before the attack. He had been in pain then, but he recalled the wizard's worried words and Fíli taking the pain from him. But there was something else that was important. Hadn't he overheard something? Someone saying something? Why couldn't he remember? Why was everything so damn foggy?

„Someone at Erebor is out to kill you," his mother said gravely.

„But who? Why?"

„We don't know yet. But I have the feeling Gandalf knows more than he discloses."

He nodded slowly. „No surprise there. I need to see Fíli. And the wizard."

With his mother in tow, he entered he Throne Hall.

Fíli, still in his armour that was stained with blood both black and red, was sitting on the throne and listening to Katla. Balin, Dwalin and Dwoss stood at his side, Gandalf was smoking his pipe and frowning. Fíli was holding his left arm awkwardly, Kíli noticed, a bandage round his bicep was covered with blood. He had dark circles under his eyes; and his mouth, usually so quick to curl into a playful smile, was a thin line.

Katla turned and flashed Kíli a quick smile. She looked exhausted but otherwise unharmed and he was grateful. He had been worried when she didn't return in time.

„So you think it can be done?" Balin's voice wobbled slightly.

„Yes, my Lord. As I said, the orcs that are left in Khazad-dûm are no match for your soldiers."

„No Black spell on the gates?" Dwoss cast Kíli a look.

„No, my Lord. The elven king must have been lying. Khazad-dûm is as easily opened as a bachelor's pants, if you don't mind my saying."

Balin coughed as his brother let out a roaring laugh.

„Are you quite sure?" Gandalf looked at Katla through the smoke of his pipe.

She straightened her shoulders. „Of course I am, wizard."

A boastful grin appeared on Dwoss' face. „See? I told you so. My scouts told you so. Had you listened to me, Lord Balin and his men could have left for Khazad-dûm weeks ago."

„We were lucky they didn't," Fíli said coolly. „Erebor would not have withstood an attack like this without Balin's soldiers."

„Of course, my Lord King. Lucky, indeed."

The door to the Throne Hall opened again, and the dwarrows bowed when the Queen entered, followed by Eyra.

Kíli frowned when he saw the two guards at her side.

„What is the meaning of this?"

„I asked the guards to accompany the young lady. I very much like to speak with her." Gandalf pointed his pipe at the librarian. „You were with the Prince when he got sick, weren't you? Yes, I remember you."

„It was terrible." Eyra sniffed.

„It was indeed." Gandalf watched her with curiosity. „Tell me what happened."

„I… I don't know. He was not feeling well. I wanted to get him to the healers."

„Were you?" Gandalf was puffing on his pipe again. „Why didn't you call for help?"

„Help?"

„You passed Erebor's guards without asking for help. They could have taken the Prince to the infirmary a lot quicker than you."

„Oh. I didn't think of that. I am sorry!"

„Come on, Gandalf. No need to bother her. I am fine."

„And for how long will you be? You have suffered more than one of those attacks and you will be victim to more if we don't end this here and now."

Gandalf's big hand suddenly closed around the librarian's small wrist.

Eyra gave a startled yelp and tried to pull free.

„Let go of her," Kíli growled.

The wizard ignored him. „That is an extraordinary ring you are wearing. May I have a look?"

He pulled the ring from Eyra's finger.

„No," she protested. „The ring is mine, I forbid you to take it!"

She slapped the wizard's big hand.

Gandalf's eyebrows shot up. „It takes a lot more to stop a wizard, young lady." He studied the big, shiny ring and looked at the librarian again who was shaking her head in desperation and whispering.

„No. It mustn't end like this. Oh, my love. I failed you. I am sorry. So very, very sorry."

„What exactly is it that grieves you so?" Gandalf looked down at her, his expression dark. „His suffering? Your failure?"

„I wish I could have done something to prevent it!" Her amber eyes were full of tears.

„I believe you have done more than enough already." Gandalf turned the ring, and it snapped open. He sniffed at the empty bowl. „Yes," he said gravely. „That's where the Morgul poison was hidden."

All colour drained from Eyra's face. „It was Morgul poison? I didn't know that!"

„Do not lie to me," the wizard thundered. „You poisoned him!"

Gandalf's voice roared load in Kíli's ears, but his brain had trouble to understand the words. She had poisoned him? The ring. He remembered the ring on her finger, her hand over his goblet of wine, the strange, dusty taste. She had poisoned him. He took a step back.

Eyra began to cry. „I had no choice! Kíli, please, believe me. I had no idea it was Morgul poison!"

She tried to fling her arms around him, but an arm in blood-stained armour intercepted her movement, a hand in an iron gauntlet closed around her wrist and hurled her towards the guards.

„Take her to the dungeons." Fíli's voice was like ice. „Get her out of here before I kill her." The muscle in his jaw was twitching as he looked at Eyra who was trembling in the guards' grip. „Lock her away."

Katla stepped forward. „I will see to it personally, my King." Mercilessly she shoved the weeping librarian out of the Throne Hall.

„We need to interrogate her," Gandalf tried to intervene.

„I need to rip her bloody head off!" Dís was struggling against Dwalin's arms that held her like a vice. „She tried to murder my boy! Where is my axe?"

„We should postpone beheadings of any sort. We must know who is behind all this."

„Yes, we do," Fíli agreed. „But first, I want to know what exactly happened. You suspected Morgul poison right from the start. Why?"

Gandalf sighed. „I will tell you. Or rather, I will show you. But it is for your eyes only. The family may stay, the others must leave."

The grey wizard took something from his bag. It was a ragged piece of leather with unreadable writings on it.

„What is that?"

„A warrant in Black Speech. It is promising a fine sum for those who capture you. Alive."

„So they want us alive this time." Kíli looked blankly at the wizard. „It is not the first price on our heads."

„It is the first that is solely on yours. They want you. To what end I am not sure." Gandalf sighed deeply. „Forgive me for not coming to you sooner. I have known of this for some time, but I didn't want to startle you until I know the meaning of it. I thought you were safe here. That's why I advised your brother not to allow any mission that would lead you away from the Lonely Mountain. But now they have attacked you inside Erebor. I am sorry for what you had to endure, my dear boy."

„I don't understand. What would anybody want with me?"

„To make a tool out of you. A creature of darkness that will carry out His will."

„Impossible," Dís sneered.

Kíli felt a shiver. He thought of the black voice in his head, trying to command him. He remembered the red eye watching him.

Gandalf looked at him closely. „When you were hit by the Morgul arrow all those years ago, you were marked by the Dark One."

„But he was healed," Fíli protested. „Tauriel healed him."

„You obviously overestimated her powers. The elven witch failed to protect him. She probably lied to you, as all those cursed elves lie, to gain your trust. To win his love."

„Shut up, mother," Fíli snapped.

„On the contrary, my dear Lady Dís." Gandalf let out a ring of smoke. „Hadn't it been for Tauriel, you would have sung Kíli into the Halls of the Waiting a long time ago." He turned to Kíli who was still trying to understand. He felt sick. „She saved your live. But you nevertheless bear the Dark Mark. Your body will forever remember the Dark Lord's grip. Whenever it comes into contact with Morgul poison, there will be a connection to darkness." He puffed on his pipe again. „Usually, those who suffer from Morgul poisoning turn into wraiths and carry out the Dark One's orders. But as far as I can see, you are still your stubborn, reckless self. I don't know how, but you resisted."

„Of course he did. He is my son. He is a descendant of Durin!"

„As much as I admire the line of Durin, I believe there is more to it." Gandalf looked at Kíli from under furrowed brows. „I have yet to find out what. And more importantly, I must find out why you were attacked. Why now, so many years after the Deceiver was expelled. I need to interrogate the young lady. There must be a connection between the price on your head and her actions. I need know who gave the orders to poison you and why. And where did she get the poison from? Morgul poison is very difficult to make, a simple orc surely is not up to a task like this. Ah. So many questions…" He put the ring into his pocket and turned to leave.

„Wait!" Kíli's voice was hoarse and trembled slightly.

„What is it?"

„Let me talk to her first."

„Kee. You look miserable. Get some fresh air. Let Gandalf and me question her."

„No. I need to talk to her. Now. You can interrogate her after."

Fíli looked at him silently for a while. Finally, he nodded his agreement, ignoring the indignant huff from Gandalf's direction.

––––

Kíli's limp was bad, when he descended the stairs into Erebor's dungeon. His leg felt oddly unfamiliar, his whole body strangely numb. He was sure his heart had stopped beating. Why on Arda would she poison him? She had read beautiful poetry to him, had held him, kissed him. She had been so lively, funny, sweet. Had all this just been part of a plan to kill him? Or worse, to turn him? Who was behind all that? He needed to find out. But when he approached her cell, he was at a loss for words.

Eyra was standing behind the bars, her fingers curled around the iron. Her amber eyes, so beautiful and so lost, searched for his.

„Kíli," she breathed. „You came." A tear rolled down her pale cheek. „I will not ask for your forgiveness because I deserve none. But I want you to know that am sorry. Oh, so very sorry! You didn't deserve this, any of this. I want you to know I had no choice."

She reached out through the bars and tried to take his hand, but he drew back.

„Why?" The question was all he could manage.

„For my husband. The elders told me if I did what they ordered me to, he would live."

„Husband?" He felt as though his own tongue was choking him.

Tears stuck in her lashes. „Yes," she whispered. „I am married. I had to try and save him. I love him more than anything! Thak, my husband, he is a free spirit. Much like you. That got him into trouble. He spoke against the Elders, against the Grey Lords. He questioned them. He didn't believe in the order of things, he said we didn't have to live like this. Others were starting to follow him. I told him to stop. I told him it was dangerous, his way of thinking, that he shouldn't say anything of this aloud. But Thak can be so stubborn. And then the Elders put him on the list."

„What kind of list? What are you talking about?"

„The list of martyrs. Whoever is on the list is handed over to the Grey Lords. They took him away from me. They tortured him. But they said he didn't have to die. If I carried out their orders, they would pardon him."

„Who said?"

„The Grey Lords." She was crying now. „I am from Ered Mithrin. There is a colony of dwarves still living in the Grey Mountains. For hundreds of years we have been completely dominated by orcs." She looked at him again, and his heart clenched at the desperation in her eyes. „The orcs ask for entertainment. We have to give them five of our people each year. Some volunteer, others are put on a list. Troublemakers. Like Thak."

„You hand over five of your own kin for orcs to torture and kill?"

„It is a small price we have to pay for the good of the colony. Give them five so that hundreds can live. The elders made that agreement with the Lords of the Grey Mountains decades ago. If we do as they wish, they leave us be. The colony has been safe since then."

„You made such a sick treaty and call it a small price? You refer to orcs as lords?" He stared at her.

Eyra stared stubbornly back. „You have a peace treaty with the elves of Mirkwood. That is just the same."

„No, it is not. Elves are the Children of the Iluvatar. They are light, not darkness."

„You say that because you…" She choked on the word „married".

He shook his head. „We have been allies with men and elves from the beginnings of time. We made a stand against the orcs. And you let yourself be willingly enslaved."

„You don't know what our life is like."

„No, I don't. But you could have told me. I would have tried to help you."

„I couldn't risk it. I didn't know you. I had to try and save my husband. It was the only way. He is everything to me."

„So you poisoned me."

„I am so sorry." She coughed, tears were running down her cheeks. „All I wanted was to save my One. And they said the sons of Durin now ruling Erebor were not worthy. They told me I had to do this. They told me Erebor was a perverted place. I believed them. Of course I believed them. I have known nothing but the Grey Mountains and the rule of orcs. But the longer I lived here, the more I got to know you, all of you, the more I doubted. Erebor is magnificent! I wish the Grey Mountains would be ruled by King Fíli! I didn't want to carry out my task, I refused to hurt the little ones. I tried to, but I couldn't. It was bad enough when Fynn fell off your pony the first time and broke his wrist. When I refused…" She sobbed. „I was given a parcel. They chopped off three of Thak's fingers! They said they would send a hand next, then a foot. But they would give me another chance. They allowed me to leave the children be, they didn't matter anyway. They told me to focus on you instead. They ordered me to make you infatuated with me. They said I had to be close to you so that you wouldn't get suspicious. They told me I should put the powder in your drink and make you take the potion. I didn't know what it was. I just knew I had to obey to save Thak. I had no idea it was Morgul poison, please believe me. I didn't know you would suffer like that. But he made me do it. He forced me. "

„Who?"

She shook her head.

„Please, tell me. We can catch him and save your husband. Free your colony from the orc's reign."

She looked at him, and her eyes glittered with tears.

„It is too late," she whispered. „He knows I have failed." Her icy fingers closed around his. „But you are still in danger. It is not over. They will try to get to you. He wants you."

„Who wants me? Why?"

She opened her mouth to speak but only a gurgling sound came. Blood was running down her chin.

„Kíli." Her whisper was hoarse and accompanied by even more blood.

„Eyra!" His voice was shrill with fear. Where were the damned keys? Where was the guard?

Calling for help, he caught her collapsing body and tried to keep her up, stroking her sweaty face between the bars.

„Help is on the way. Hold on."

Her lids fluttered, and her eyes were dark.

„Too late."

„No! Don't do this to me. Hold on. Please."

Her pale lips opened.

Kíli crouched closer to the bars.

A gush of blood drowned the word she was saying.

She tried again, and he brought his ear as close to her face behind the door as he could.

„… oss…an… la…"

She coughed up more blood, and her body tensed.

„No. Eyra. Please. Eyra?"

The guard came running.

„Did you call for help, my Prince? What happened?" The young dwarf's face went pale when he saw Eyra's body in a pool of blood. „Is she dead?"

„Open up! Quick!"

The young guard fumbled with the keys, dropped them and tried again. Kíli felt like smashing him against the bars until they broke. When the barred door finally sprang open, he pushed aside the guard who was colliding with the stone wall, and knelt beside Eyra's slumped body to feel for signs of life. But there were none.

He scooped her lifeless body up in his arms and carried her out of the dungeons to the Throne Hall as fast as he could. Surely Gandalf must be able to help?


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you** for following this story, and thank you for most supportive reviews! Checking for your reviews and opinions the morning after publishing another chapter is literally the first thing I do. Ok, coffee first.

Everybody who needs a little light reading after this chapter: I recommend you check out my other story „From Erebor with love". Cheeky Kili and bad-ass Tauriel. It's fun.

Sword

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 **XII.**

Gandalf shook his head and let his wrinkled hand rest on Eyra's forehead, before he gently closed the dwarrordam's eyelids. His fingers searched through her clothes and produced a small flask from Eyra's dress.

„What is this?"

„She poison she died of, I should think."

„So she poisoned herself," Dwoss said.

The old dwarf had been standing in the corridor, talking to Katla in a hushed voice when Kíli had carried the lifeless body of the librarian into the Throne Hall. Dwalin and Balin, at the other end of the corridor, had hurried to meet him. Balin's gentle blue eyes closed with grief when his eyes fell upon Eyra's ashen face and her blue, blood-sprayed lips. No one had objected when everybody followed Kíli inside the Hall, all eyes lay on the still form in his arms, her mouse-brown hair slick with blood.

„Or she was poisoned." Gandalf gave him a meaningful look.

„By whom?" Dwoss sneered. „The last to see her was the Prince. Are you suggesting anything, wizard?"

Gandalf ignored him. „What did she tell you, Kíli?"

Kíli continued stroking Eyra's hair without looking up.

„She came from the Grey Mountains. She lived in a colony under the reign of orcs. They sent her to Erebor, they forced her."

„You believe her?" Katla's voice was like acid. „She wanted you dead. Do you not think she would easily tell any lie?"

„They threatened to hand over her husband to the orcs. That's what the colony must do, sacrifice some of their people each year so that the orcs can still their blood-lust. She had no choice but to obey."

„Husband," Katla sneered. „I told you to stay away from her."

„Did she tell you anything else, my Lord?" Dwoss asked. „Did she name those who sent her?"

Kíli shook his head. „She died before she could say anything."

„Then we are at a dead end," Dwoss said gravely. „We will never find out why she was seeking your life. But it matters not. The villain is dead by her own hand, the danger is over."

Kíli opened his mouth to object, but a look from Gandalf silenced him. „So it seems," the wizard said.

„The orcs that attacked us this night came from the Grey Mountains," Dwalin stated. „There might be a connection."

„I am convinced of it," Gandalf acknowledged. „But who commands them? I believe there's more to it, some foul plan that has yet to be unravelled."

„Why go for Erebor in the first place? The Lonely Mountain is the mightiest stronghold in the North. It cannot be captured, least of all by orcs," Dís said with pride. „Since the Battle of the Five Armies Fíli and Kíli have turned it into an invulnerable fortress. Erebor is Rhovanion's last bastion against the black forces from Mount Gundabad and Ered Mithrin. Her name alone makes our enemies tremble with fear."

„Those orcs that attacked us tonight were not intimidated." Fíli gritted his teeth. „Our victory was hard-won."

„We should go after them." Kíli stroked Eyras hair one last time and got up. „Find out why Grey Mountain orcs were attacking us. Free that colony Eyra spoke of."

„Are you mad?" Dwoss stared at him. „Thirty-four soldiers have already passed into the Halls of Mandos. Do you want more of our people dead?"

„Of course I don't. But do you not think we should investigate? I for my part want to know why Erebor became a target, why…" He made a helpless gesture towards the dead dam without looking at her. The sight of her grey, blood-stained face, her pretty features contorted in a mask of pain was more than he could bear. „Why this happened," he finished, his voice raw.

„And what do you suggest we do? Just march upon Ered Mithrin? This is no picnic, son! Wargs breed in the caverns, orcs are all over the place. It is said that dragons still dwell at the eastern end of the mountain range. You yourself insisted on two scouting parties into Khazad-dûm, and now you are willing to lead good men to their sure deaths? The Grey Mountains were lost to orcs a long time ago, and unlike Khazad-dûm there is no chance of ever reclaiming them."

„You mean to say there is no Mithril to quarry. Only kinsmen to be freed." Kíli glared at the bushy-bearded dwarf. „There are Longbeards still existing in the Grey Mountains, and they are enslaved by orcs! We cannot allow this to happen!"

Dwoss spat at his feet. „What do you know of the Grey Mountains? Of the dwarrows living there? Nothing! You know nothing!"

„What do you know about the colony?" Balin was addressing Kíli now. „Where exactly is it? How many dwarrows are living there? How many orcs would we face?"

„She spoke of hundreds of dwarves. As for the rest, I do not know."

„That is not much, lad. If there is indeed a colony which we don't even know, it will be deep under the mountain, and we don't have a clue where to look. It is a vast terrain, the mountains stretch for hundreds of miles. And even if we should find it, it will be nearly impossible to reach. Those settlements were built to be invulnerable. Reaching it alone will be perilous. With orcs watching over it and attacking intruders from above, it will be even more dangerous," Dwalin argued.

„We cannot risk Erebor's soldiers on a suicide mission."

Dwalin glared at Dwoss. „I didn't say it was a suicide mission. I merely said it would be very dangerous."

„Do they want to be saved?"

The voices fell silent. Everybody turned to look at Katla.

„Do they want to be saved? Or are they content with the arrangement? Will they welcome us, or fight us?"

„The lass has a point there," Balin nodded. „What if they do not appreciate our help? What if they turn against us? They lived like this for a very long time."

„No! You cannot leave them to their fate!" Kíli balled his fists. "Eyra's husband was imprisoned because he didn't want to be reigned by orcs."

"A troublemaker. He is nothing else than a troublemaker who tried to stir up a rebellion," Dwoss barked.

„Kíli, be reasonable. You don't know whether you will be doing those Grey Mountain dwarrows a favour," Katla said.

„Are you saying they want to live like slaves?"

„I am saying that maybe they cherish the safety that arrangement gives them. They turned on you! They were willing to sacrifice you, Durin's heir. Do you really think they will appreciate your help? Your life is far too precious to be risked for such a cause."

He shook his head. „If none of you are willing to take the risk, I will go on my own."

„You will not," Fíli said matter-of-factly.

„What the dead girl told you are alarming news indeed," Gandalf spoke up. „No orc can master a plan like that. Enslave a whole colony and blackmail them into a scheme like this. Kíli might be just a little piece in a far bigger puzzle. I will travel to Lothlórien to seek council with the Lady Galadriel. And you, my Prince, will come with me."

„I am going to Ered Mithrin."

„You will do as Gandalf says." Fíli furrowed his brows. „Weren't you paying attention? Somebody in Ered Mithrin ordered Eyra to poison you. Orcs from the Grey Mountains attacked Erebor this night. And all you think of is going there? You would be playing right into their hands!"

„Then send soldiers. A scouting party."

„No, I won't. Erebor must recover from the attack. We don't even know if she spoke the truth. Everything she told you about a colony could simply have been a means to lure you into the Grey Mountains and into captivity."

„There is only one way to find out, and I am willing to take the risk. I will look for that colony, I will find out why they sent her to Erebor. We need to know."

„If that's what he wants, why not grant him his wish?" Dwoss bowed towards the King. „Maybe the Prince can achieve what others cannot? If only half of what the soldiers tell about him in the taverns is true, what can possibly happen to him? He used a simple ladder as a shield in a cave full of blood-thirsty goblins and emerged without even so much as a scratch. He fought giant Gundabad orcs atop Ravenhill on his own and ensured victory. Surely, his reputation is well-earned? If he wants to venture into the Grey Mountains, why not let him go?"

If the offensive dwarf really supported his cause or was simply mocking him, Kíli was not sure. But either way, he nodded and looked at Fíli.

„Fee, let me scout. You know I can move quickly and without a sound. No one will even see me."

„Are you out of your mind?" Fíli's eyes burned. „Gandalf just explained you bear the Dark Mark. You know that orcs can sense you. And you are thinking of entering mountains crawling with orcs on your own? Do you want to die? Just say so, and I will stop protecting you!"

„You don't have to protect me. I am no longer a dwarfling."

„No? If you are not, why are you always acting like one? You don't think once of how your actions affect others. Why do you never listen to anyone?"

„I do. I just refuse to obey silly orders. Have a little more faith in me and my judgement. I have always been loyal to Erebor and to you. I stayed at your side. Chose you, over anyone else."

„Do not make me responsible," Fíli snapped. „I never asked you to."

„I have never let you down. Why don't you trust me?"

Fíli's lips turned pale. His fingers closed round the marble armrest. And Kíli realised he had just made a grave mistake.

„Do not speak to me of trust, of loyalty, when you don't care about a single word I say. When you do as you please regardless of how it makes me feel." Fíli stood up and slowly stepped down the dais to face him. „When your mare lost her footage in the river, you went after her, although I told you not to. I nearly drowned trying to save you."

Kíli said nothing.

„When the Trolls caught Bilbo, I told you to wait until I summoned the others. But you attacked them on your own, and we had to enter the fight without proper preparation. We survived because of Bilbo's wit and Gandalf's good timing." Fíli was speaking very quietly, but his voice was trembling with barely hidden anger. „When we escaped the dungeons of Mirkwood, you climbed the parapet to open the water lock. You didn't care that you made an easy target."

Kíli remained silent.

„When you were hit by the arrow, I asked you whether you needed help. Whether Oin should examine your wound. You turned me down. As if nothing I ever said meant anything to you. As if any consequence of your actions would be meaningless."

Kíli felt his stomach clench. He knew where this was going.

„Don't," he pleaded.

„When I was wounded on Ravenhill, I told you to leave me and fight at Thorin's side instead, but you refused."

„I…"

„You refused!" Fíli was yelling now. „He needed your help, and you refused to defend him!"

„Fíli!" Hrynn cried, aghast.

Fíli stood, panting. The scar that ran from his temple to his jaw throbbed in an angry red in his ashen face.

„You refused, and he died. How can I trust you?"

„Fíli!" Hrynn grabbed her husband's arm and yanked him back. „You don't mean that. Kíli, he doesn't. He is just upset with worry for you. You know that, Kíli, don't you?"

But Kíli knew his brother was right. He sunk his head as he slowly dropped down on one knee.

„If you want me to leave for Lórien, I will do as you wish."

„I want you to leave." Fíli's voice was barely a whisper.

–––––––

Dís appeared by his side as he was preparing his pony for the journey.

„You made the right choice back then," she said quietly.

Kíli stopped saddling Frosti, but didn't turn around to face her.

„It was never a question of choice, mum."

„I know. You and your brother share a bond that is deeper than mere blood ties. I have always known that where one would go the other would follow. In life and in death. I know that in the Battle of the Lonely Mountain you had no choice but to stay with him and fight for his life." She put a gentle hand on his back. „And I am forever grateful that you did. I still have both my sons because of what you did."

„I had sworn an oath to defend Thorin, and I didn't."

„I know it pains you. But he would not have wanted it any other way. He would be very proud of you, Kíli." She chuckled lightly. „I made him swear to protect you both. I threatened to split his pigheaded skull with my axe should anything happen to you. But I didn't need to. He would have given his life for either one of you. He loved you."

Her hand on his back was warm and comforting. „I love you. I may not have been the best mother, neither for Fíli nor for you. But I love you, and I am very proud that you are my son."

He draw her in a tight embrace and buried his face in his mother's hair.

„Inik-dê," she whispered. „Return to me."

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

I decided to gift Fíli with the Poldark scratch, the most handsome scar on British television. As for Poldark's other bodily features… Suit yourselves. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII.**

It was hot. Frosti and the pack horse at his side were sweating despite the slow gait. Even Kíli was sweating although he had taken off all his shirts but one light garment. He rolled up the sleeves and opened the collar as wide as decency allowed but it was no use. He was sweating.

He shot the wizard a dark glance. Seemingly unaffected by the burning summer sun, Gandalf was sitting on his big white horse, still under his ridiculous hat and dressed in various layers of thick, grey robes. He was puffing on his pipe and from time to time stroking his beard affectionally. If he had to tolerate a beard that bore a close resemblance to a sheep's hide, he would surely melt, Kíli thought. But Gandalf seemed to be enjoying himself.

They had been travelling for weeks now, had carefully avoided Dale and New Esgaroth and kept out of Mirkwood so that neither men nor elves would spot them. Gandalf had insisted that their journey remain a secret. In Erebor, only those present in the Throne Hall when the decision was made knew of Kíli's whereabouts. Fíli was to keep his brother's departure a secret for as long as possible.

Since Gandalf wanted to avoid the abandoned fortress of Dol Guldur and refused to cross Mirkwood even further down at the East bight, they had to travel round the mighty forest that stretched out far south. For the first time in his life Kíli set foot on the Brown Lands, a barren and treeless territory, not unlike the Desolation of Smaug. The sun burnt down on them mercilessly, and their water-skins were nearly empty.

Gandalf had promised they would reach the Anduin today. From the river it was a mere two days' ride to Lothlórien. What then? Kíli had no idea. Until now he had not thought of anything other than to reach their day's destination, get his aching limbs out of the saddle, drink as much water as he could and find a place for his bed-roll as far away from the wizard as possible. He had not talked to Gandalf since they left Erebor. Irritatingly, his silent brooding didn't seem to affect the wizard at all. Of course it didn't. It wasn't Gandalf who'd fallen out with his brother, who'd left a dead girl behind. Gandalf hadn't abandoned his duty to a kingdom, hadn't abandoned enslaved kin to their fate.

More than once Kíli had thought about slipping away at night and making his way into the Grey Mountains. But he knew that most likely he wouldn't even be able to find the colony let alone free it from a reign of terror that had lasted for centuries. Chances were high he would be killed, or worse, caught. He would endanger Erebor and lose any chance of ever putting things right again with Fíli.

Still. The knowledge of a settlement under the reign of orcs pained him. Thinking of Eyra pained him. He had been stupid to think she had feelings for him. Now that he thought of it, her intention had been painfully obvious from the start. All she had wanted was to lure him into the trap she had so cleverly set, from her first appearance at Consultation to the poetry she had read him. Everything she had said or done had been to gain his trust, to poison him without raising suspicion. Her betrayal hurt, as did knowing she never truly felt for him. Yet he was troubled by the thought of what they must have done to her, of how afraid she must have been to have killed herself. Or had been killed. Was it really possible that someone inside Erebor had had a hand in this? Someone who was cruel and cold-blooded enough to kill a lass who had simply been desperate? She had tried to name someone, but Kíli's mind had raced over those unintelligible syllables without coming up with a matching person. Instead, the memory of her eyes, frightened and so full of pain, of the blood on her pale lips, her whispered warning that he still was in danger, haunted him. Tortured him. But thinking of Fíli nearly drove him mad.

They had argued before. Of course they had. They were brothers. They had argued, they had hurt each other, they had said things they didn't mean, they even had given one another the occasional black eye. But they had always made up almost instantly.

This was different. Fíli didn't trust him anymore. Didn't want him around any longer. Thorin's death at the hands of Azog had created a rift. It had gnawed at them for over forty years now. They had never talked about Ravenhill. But slowly and mercilessly it had poisoned their bond.

Poison.

He tried not to think about the Morgul poison. About the Dark Mark that bound him to Darkness.

During the days it was surprisingly easy. The heat made him tired. Sometimes he dozed off while riding. He had nearly slipped out of the saddle once.

The nights were a completely different matter. Sleep was hard to find, nightmares came easy. Mostly, he stayed awake and looked at the stars.

„How long have you known?" The question slipped from his mouth before he could fight it back.

„Known what?"

„Of the price on my head. How long?"

„I found out some years ago."

„And you never once thought about telling me?"

„I didn't want to upset you. I had yet to determine whether the warrant was of any importance. What sort of scheme was behind it. As you said, a price had been put on your heads more than once."

„Was that the reason Fíli made me stay at Erebor when Tauriel left?"

„Fíli needed you. He was still suffering from the aftermath of battle, both in body and mind. I had no hand in it."

„Don't give me that. You were against me and Tauriel right from the start."

„I was not. In fact, I was quite moved by the affection you had for each other. I may be old but I am not immune to love."

Kili stayed silent for a while.

„Have you seen her since then?"

„Once or twice. She is travelling Middle Earth, our paths have crossed over the years. The last time I met her she was staying with a group of Dúnedain."

„How was she?"

„Fierce. As ever."

Kíli's lip twitched. „She messed with you."

„I wouldn't call it…" Gandalf coughed and muttered something in his beard. „Yes," he mumbled eventually. „And yes, she did."

„Did what?"

„Ask about you. How you were faring. If you were happy."

„What did you say?"

Gandalf busied himself with his pipe and didn't answer.

They rode in silence again until the dry soil slowly became greener. Bushes and trees were casting cooling shadows and the green shimmer of a forest's edge lined the horizon. Gandalf stopped his horse and motioned to the river that cut through the rocky lands like a wide blue band.

„The Anduin."

Gratefully Kíli slid of Frosti's back and led the ponies to the water to drink. He could see fish glide through the clear water that splashed over big stones. It looked inviting, cool, refreshing, and Kili was just about to pull his shirt over his head when he heard it. The slight rustle of grass and small pebbles under feet. His bow and arrow were ready in the blink of an eye, and he swirled around, aiming at where the sound had come from, only to be greeted by a sharp arrowhead pointed at him. Five elves were standing at the riverbank, their bows ready to shoot.

„Do you really think you could harm me with that toy of yours, dwarf?"

„We can easily find out," Kíli answered darkly, his arrow pointing at the tall blond's heart.

„Now, now," Gandalf appeased. „There is no need for hostility. We are all friends here."

„Mithrandir." The blond elf who seemed to be the leader of the small group made a sour face. „Why are you bringing a dwarf to our lands?"

„We are seeking the council of the Lady Galadriel. We must meet her immediately."

„That won't be possible."

„It is of the utmost importance that we do. Lady Galadriel will want to meet my young friend, Haldir. Please take us to her, and swiftly."

„The Lady is not at Lothlórien."

Kíli glowered at the grey wizard. „Great, you really thought that through, didn't you."

„Excuse my companion. He usually is far more pleasant company and at least a little more civilised." Gandalf started to mount again. „But I expect a bath and a meal at your halls will do wonders while we wait for the Lady to return. Come on, Kíli, no time to waste."

„A bath surely would be recommendable," the elf Haldir said with a slight sneer. „Although I doubt it will wash away the stench of dwarf."

Kíli gritted his teeth, his fingers itched to let the arrow lose and allow it to pierce the elf's small backside. But he eventually lowered his bow and put the arrow back in his quiver. When he was about to mount he caught a she-elf's eye. She was watching him, not hostile like the others, but with the quiet curiosity of her race. She was beautiful with wide blue eyes, high cheekbones and creamy skin. Beautiful yes, in an absolute boring way. She had nothing of the fierceness he had loved so much in Tauriel, there was no barely hidden fire in her eyes, no vibrating energy in her movements, no humour playing along her lips.

Nevertheless, he passed her a friendly smile.

„I should offer you my steed," he said, remembering the rules of courtesy Balin had taught him. Not necessarily as a male, but as a prince from Durin's line.

The she-elf arched an eyebrow while her face remained oddly impassive.

„I doubt you could keep our pace, dwarf."

„Do not underestimate my race. We dwarves are natural sprinters, very dangerous over short distances." He grinned, remembering the old joke his cousin Gimli and he used to laugh their heads off at back home in Ered Luin.

The elf, of course, didn't laugh.

They rode in silence, Gandalf still managing to appear as though he enjoyed himself, the elves talking in hushed voices, and Kíli looking stoically ahead and trying not to listen to the muffled conversation in Sindarin. Their accent was a little different from that of the Woodland elves, but he could understand them all the same. He had heard the likes before. All that talk about his height, his big feet, his round ears, his stubble, the chest hair protruding from his wide-open collar. His bow, of course, and his ability, or rather lack of, to use it. Kíli growled softly. He was so fed up with all that talk and silly prejudices.

The elf maid walking at Frosti's side cast him a glance.

„You understand our language."

He nodded. „Súlon 'wanna ron chîn." He switched into Sindarin without even thinking about it.

„Indeed. Much wind pours from their mouths." Her lips parted in a tiny smile. „Forgive my companions. Apart from Haldir not one of them has ever seen a dwarf before."

„Even less reason for stupid talk."

„Yes. Please do not think ill of them. They are merely inquisitive. They are young and have not met other races before." She looked at him curiously. „Where did you learn to speak our language?"

„The Woodland Realm."

„Really? Most astonishing. I thought the kingdom was secluded and that king Thranduil didn't care much for dwarves."

„A lot has changed since the Battle."

„Apparently so."

„Although, I think, he still doesn't care much for dwarves." He winked.

She smiled. „But someone did. Someone who taught you our language. You speak it well."

He felt his smile fade. Yes, someone had cared for him once, and he had been a fool to believe he could forget about her and carry on.

„Your ring. It is of elven making."

He looked at his hands holding the reins and at the silver band round his finger that resembled two branches woven together, decorated with emerald leaves. It had belonged to Tauriel's father once, a token of love from her mother, one of the very few things she had inherited when her parents had been killed by orcs.

„It means a lot to you. Was it given to you by a friend? A lover?"

He felt her cool eyes rest on him when he remained silent.

 _Amin Gin melathon an-uir, I will love you for eternity. Khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar, I will follow you to death and beyond._

He remembered the words Tauriel had spoken that night. He remembered the sky twinkling with stars. He had wanted to take her out into the open, wanted her to breath air smelling of wind and earth, of the far away lake and the forest beyond. But leaving the Lonely Mountain had been no option since even with a crutch he was still not able to walk properly. So he had chosen a balcony from where she at least could see Mirkwood and the lake, and he had prayed nobody would search for him for he had meant this night to be special. He could no longer imagine a life without her, his Amrâlimê. He had called her that once before. Before the battle, before Thorin's death, before everything had fallen apart. It seemed oddly unreal, just as it seemed like a dream that Tauriel was still with him, that she had refused to leave him as he was slowly recovering, that she still stayed at his side although there was no longer the need to watch over his breathing or his heartbeat. And when he finally had gathered all his courage and declared his love on that night, it had been Tauriel who had taken his hand and slipped her father's ring onto his finger.

He had taken it off when she had left Erebor and him. But for some reason he had taken it with him on his journey now and a few days ago even put it on his finger again.

The elves stopped at the forest edge, clearly unsure whether to continue in the company they kept, and Gandalf smiled.

„Lead on, please. We are looking forward to the welcome of Lothlórien."

The elf Haldir pressed his thin lips together and entered the forest. Kili tugged at the pack horse's lead rein and followed, but couldn't help scanning his surroundings and involuntary hunching his shoulders. The forest was old, he could feel it, and it felt oddly alive. Aware of him. He thought of the axe strapped to his back and hoped those trees wouldn't draw the wrong conclusions. Durin's ass. He was thinking like an elf. But he knew from experience that trees were alive, some more awake than others, and that it was unwise to provoke them. These trunks were as wide as Erebor's marble columns, the branches thick like an olifant's leg, they could crush him in the wink of an eye. Still, Lothlórien, although a woodland realm just like Thranduil's kingdom, was very different from Mirkwood. It wasn't dark, or intimidating. It was bright, almost welcoming, and full of life. Rays of sunlight fell through the canopy of leaves and created a pattern of light and colour. Birds were singing in the trees, and the leaves were rustling, not angry and threatening but playful and friendly as if greeting him.

How long they had travelled until they reached Caras Galadhon, he had no idea. Frosti passed the two mighty trees that had grown into an arch, and stepped onto a path of finely carven stone. They were entering Lothlórien's elegant city with its exquisite chased pathways, steps and bridges, lanterns everywhere in the tree tops and delicate houses sitting in the trees themselves. Some of them were shimmering like silver and their leaves sparkled golden. Kíli couldn't help but crane his neck and take in the sight. He was so mesmerised by the beauty and craftsmanship that he didn't notice the elves stop. Frosti bumped right into the one at the rear who flashed Kíli an angry look. But before he could offer him insults, an elf in a flowing white robe stepped onto the stone bridge ahead, his silver hair rippling over his shoulders, his dark eyes surveying the party and finally coming to rest on Kíli.

„Le nathlam hí, Kíli of Erebor. Welcome to Lothlórien."

Kíli blinked. How did the elf know his name?

 _You are known amongst the children of the Ilúvatar, Kíli, who is called mellon en' quessir, the elf-friend._ The voice was in his head, not angry, and consuming, and commanding like the Black voice but soothing and feathery-light. _You are troubled, child of Durin, but do not despair. Hope is not yet lost, and friends are found in the most unlikely of places._

„I am Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood. Lothlórien welcomes you. Mithrandir. it has been a long time."

„It has indeed," Gandalf humbly tilted his head. „Your friendly welcome is most appreciated."

–––––––

After a bath and a meal at Lord Celeborn's table, Kíli was looking forward to sleep in what looked like a very soft bed. He sat down and was about to pull off his boots when Gandalf handed him a small bundle. Kíli looked questioningly at the wizard when he unwrapped an arrowhead.

„That's what Fíli was shot with. I thought you wanted to have a look."

„That's exactly what I wanted, but I had no chance to get hold of it before we left. Are you a mind reader?"

„I am a wizard, my young friend, something you should never forget and pay more respect to."

„Yes, yes. Fine, I will," Kíli answered absentmindedly and studied the arrowhead. „Where's the rest?"

„I am afraid that's all we have. Fíli broke off the shaft to continue fighting."

„Damn. Most archers mark the shafts. Some notch the tip as well, but I can't see anything here. Wrought metal, sharp, well balanced. A very fine piece of work. See this?" He lifted the sharp piece of metal into the lamp light. „The smith has flattened the iron around the shaft. It's tedious work, but arrows forged like that are superior projectiles. This arrow is from Erebor for sure."

Kíli weighed the arrowhead in his hand. „Did you see how it happened?"

Gandalf frowned. „As a matter of fact, I did. It was remarkable. Fíli was hit at the same time his pony was attacked by a warg. That creature killed a fine horse but saved his life. The pony stumbled and fell. That's why the arrow pierced Fíli's arm, not his heart."

Kíli slowly looked up. „Are you saying someone tried to kill my brother?"

„I am saying your brother was lucky."

„Someone, most likely a dwarf from Erebor, shot Fíli and only missed because his pony was brought down?"

„It would seem so."

Kíli jumped to his feet. „Someone tried to kill Fíli and you made me leave Erebor?" He cursed and gathered his belongings. „I have to go back."

„You need to stay."

He shook his head. „Fíli is in danger. I need to be at his side. He needs to know about the assault."

„He knows," Gandalf said mildly.

Kíli stopped in mid-motion. „What?"

„Your brother is well aware that someone shot him deliberately. He knows he is in danger."

The bundle dropped from his hands. „He knows?"

„Yes."

„And he sent me away nonetheless?"

„It was the wisest thing to do."

„Damn you."

„There, there. Fíli can watch out for himself. And there are always Dwalin and Katla to protect him. You, on the other hand, were no longer safe at Erebor."

Kíli cursed again, but sat down.

Fíli knew. And he had sent him away.

He buried his head in his hands.

Gandalf busied himself unpacking his saddle bag, lay down eventually and after a while started to snore. Silently Kíli got up and left their quarters, knowing he would find no sleep tonight. How was he supposed to sleep when his brother was in danger? He wandered around the trees and flickering lights of Caras Galadhon, tried to catch a glimpse of the night sky between the leaves, walked down passages and over bridges. A small stream ran through a clearing with a marble basin that was beautifully decorated with leaves and flowers cut from stone, and Kíli let his fingers trace the smooth and exquisitely crafted surface. He felt the stone tingle and vibrate under his fingertips. This was strong magic, no doubt inbreathed into the stone by elves, a long time ago.

„The mirror of Galadriel," a soft voice said, and Kíli jumped. He hadn't heard Lord Celeborn approach. The elf Lord filled a jar with water from the stream and poured it into the basin until it was filled to the brim. He breathed on it, and the water's surface stilled.

„You may look into it if you wish."

„What will I see?"

„I do not know. Nor do I know if it will do you good. You may learn something, whether what you see be fair or evil, that may be profitable, and yet it may not. Seeing is both good and perilous."

Slowly Kíli approached the marble basin and looked at the water that reflected the lantern's shine, colours dancing and glistening on the tiny ripples. The sparkles seemed to morph into a form, an image emerged, golden and red. The gold reminded him of Fíli's hair, yes it was, Fíli's hair, thick and golden and spread out on the ground. Covered in red. Blood? Kíli frowned and stared deeper into the basin. Yes. Without doubt. That was Fíli, lying on the ground, his body strangely twisted, blood in his hair and on his pale face. His palms were flat on the stone ground, his eyes were closed, his pallor was ashen, and he was much too still.

Fíli seemed to be wounded, or worse. Why did he see his brother in a state like this? It reminded him of Ravenhill, of Fíli falling after being impaled by Azog, of the sickening sound of breaking bones when his body hit the ground.

Was that a memory of the Battle? Of his brother's shattered and bloodied body? Kíli bent down lower and was held back by a slender hand.

He blinked and looked up at Celeborn.

„Careful," the ancient elf said. „Do not get lost." When he looked at the basin again, the image was gone.

„What was that?" He asked in a strangled voice. „A memory? Or a warning? Something that happened many years ago or something that is going to happen? Please, I need to know!"

„It is what you want it to be." „I don't want this at all. Why were you showing me this?"

„The Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be unless those that behold the visions turn aside from the path their heart lays out for them."

Kíli looked into the basin again. He needed to know if the water had just shown him an image from Ravenhill, a memory of terrible things long past, or a vision of the future. But when he looked into the clear, still water, he couldn't detect any image of Fíli. Nothing golden reflected in the smooth surface. Instead there was white.

White Stone, walls, pathways, sculptures. Blue sky. Kíli shook his head. Houses, roads, built from white stone. People in the streets, busying themselves with trading, some riding horses. They were men, no doubt. Bearded faces, combed hair falling in waves on armoured shoulders. What was he seeing now? A white city of men, built against a mountain. A square with a dead tree, its branches reaching out into the sky like fingers. A face in the crowd. His heart stopped a beat. That face. Lightly freckled skin, flawless and rosy-pale, eyes green like emeralds, a sensuous mouth, hair like copper.

Tauriel.

Tauriel was walking amongst the men, her bow slung over her shoulder. She looked up and looked right at him. Looked. At. Him. Her eyes widened.

A finger dived into the water and stirred it.

„No!"

„The mirror is not meant as a bridge. Sometimes time and places bend and interweave just like kindred spirits are intertwined but what you see is either your heart's dearest desire or its greatest fear. What will come to pass has yet to be decided. It is not passage but possibility, and it will be in your hands alone what you make of it, which path you choose, may it lead to good fortune or despair."

Kíli stared into the stirred water that slowly smoothed, pleading for Tauriel to reappear. But the white city was replaced by darkness. He saw a dark room, black stone walls and huddled figures chained to it. Grey orcs were strolling among their captives, kicking them and laughing. Flames were flickering, the fire turned red and grew, and a black slit opened like a pupil. Kíli jerked back, and Lord Celeborn emptied the basin with a single move.

„The Darkness is rising again," he said gravely. „Mordor is awake, Sauron is trying to recapture Middle Earth. A last battle will have to be fought, not now, but soon. We have felt it for some time now. But the blackness stirs in the North rather than in the East. This is the reason the Lady Galadriel has travelled to Isengard to seek council with Saruman, the white wizard."

The pale elf looked at Kíli, his eyes dark and bottomless. „As for your part in this I am not yet sure. My heart tells me you will influence our fate but it is your heart that will decide whether it will be for the good. Do not embrace death willingly, Kíli of the proud line of Durin, you are loved and needed by many."

Lord Celeborn let his hand rest on his heart and bowed, and Kíli, baffled, just managed to mimic his gesture before the elf vanished between the trees.

His head was swarming with everything the elf lord had said, with everything he had seen in the basin. Fíli. On Ravenhill. Tauriel. In the white city of men.

Kíli blinked.

The white city. The dead tree.

He knew where to find her.

Determined, he went back to the chamber he shared with Gandalf and packed his things without making a sound, gathered his weapons, fetched the ponies, and made his way silently towards Lothlórien's gate.

The she-elf from before was standing guard, and when he approached she looked at his ponies, fully saddled and packed, at his gear, his leathers and travel cloak. She smiled briefly and then looked deliberately away to allow his secret departure. Kíli mounted and left Lothlórien.


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV.**

Minas Tirith, Kíli had to admit, was beautiful. It was made from stone, white and shining like a pearl; built high against the mountain and seemed to stretch into the rock itself. It could have been a dwarven fortress for all its splendour. He entered the gate and rode up into the first ring that swarmed with merchants. Horse and rider passed the guards who eyed the dwarf curiously but did not stop him. Kíli left market stalls and stables behind and steered Frosti through the small cobblestoned roads lined with what seemed to be living quarters. High above the swarming beehive of merchants, peasants, citizens and soldiers he reached a plateau and dismounted. He left Frosti and the pack horse tied to a branch of the dead tree in the square's centre and made his way to what he thought were the Royal Quarters. Several armed men stood in the vast corridors but again not one of them tried to stop him.

It was only at the entrance to the great hall that a guard stepped up, his hand on the pommel of his sword. The man looked down at him.

„You are a dwarf."

„And you are observant." Kíli grinned. „Who rules this city?"

The man gaped. „Denethor, son of Ecthelion, of course. The Steward of Gondor."

„Of course." Kíli searched his memory for what Balin had taught him about the history of Gondor. It had no king. No, wrong. There was a royal line. The line of Elendil, but since the disappearance of King Earnur no one had ever claimed the throne leaving Gondor in the care of a Steward. He remembered now. The story had intrigued him, had reminded him of his uncle. A king in exile just waiting for the opportune moment to reclaim the throne.

„I will speak to Denethor then."

„One does not simply walk into the Royal Hall of Minas Tirith!"

„No? I just did."

The man drew his sword. „Step back, dwarf."

„Put that away. I have no intention to hurt you."

„I said, step back." The tip of the sword rose higher.

Kíli sighed and unsheathed his own sword.

The man grinned presumptuously. „You are no match for me. I am twice your size."

„No, you're not. And even if you were. I have killed orcs far bigger than you. Don't be a fool, let me pass. I have no ill intentions, I just want to speak with your Steward."

„Back."

Kíli sighed again. He hooked his leg around the man's and pulled him off his feet. The man landed on his back with a crash, his iron armour clanked on the stone floor, and he writhed with pain from the impact. Kíli entered the great hall, his sword still in his hand. He knew the man would come after him, angered as he most likely was now. The sound of heavy footsteps told him the guard was back on his feet and attacking him from behind. Spinning around, he blocked the man's sword with his own and threw a counter strike while at the same time he loosened the strap of his axe. He was no expert in wielding two blades, not like Fíli or Dwalin, but he could handle them well enough to end this encounter quickly. The man's strikes came swiftly and with force, his face was crimson and contorted in anger when his blows had no effect whatsoever. Yes, he was strong, but so was Kíli. It was easy to block the attacks, unfocused and predictable as they were. It was time to put an end to this. Kíli let his axe catch the man's blade and force it upwards while at the same time he hit the man's hand hard with the flat side of his sword. The guard flinched and loosened his grip. His sword, caught between the tips of the double headed axe, was ripped out of his numb fingers and hurled through the hall. With a loud shatter it fell on the polished stone not far from Kíli's feet. The guard lunged, but Kíli put his foot down on the blade and slowly shook his head.

„Let it be. If I wanted to kill your Steward, he would be dead already. All I want is to make a proposition."

„Come closer," a cold voice from inside the hall addressed him.

Kíli eyed the man sitting on the throne made of shiny marble. There was an air of hubris and cruelty around him that he didn't like. Denethor looked at the dwarf and his small lips twitched.

„If you want to trade gems or repair copper pots, dwarf, you don't need to speak to me."

„Then it is good that I want neither." He bowed slightly. „I am Kíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thrain, Prince of Erebor. At your service."

„What service would that be, dwarf?"

Kíli went for the first thing that crossed his mind.

„I am offering to teach your men. The performance of your guard is poor. If the fighting skills of your soldiers are the same you are in dire straits."

The man clenched his jaw. His eyes narrowed.

„Why would I want to employ you? Do you have any experience?"

„I am Captain of Erebor's forces. Doubtless a man of your standing and experience has heard of the dwarven kingdom."

„I have indeed. If you are who you claim to be, Prince and Captain, then why are you not at the mighty kingdom of Erebor? What brings you to Gondor and into my halls with an offer like yours? Surely you are in no need for gold. It is said Erebor's treasure hoard has no equal in the whole of Rhovanion."

Kíli shrugged. „I am travelling and wanted to lay eyes on the white city. Its magnificence exceeds its reputation by far, Lord Denethor. But what it has in beauty it lacks in security. It occurred to me that you could need my help."

„Dwarves are not known for their generosity. What do you want in return?"

„Payment as you see fit. I am not the only non-human you employ. Treat me like the others, like the elves."

If the man denied having elves in his service, Kíli could just as well leave Gondor and look for Tauriel elsewhere.

„Very well," Denethor said as he looked down at the dwarf. His lips twitched once more. „I will take you into service. No matter how small your impact may be." He flicked his fingers at the still panting man who was massaging his hurting sword hand. „What is your name?"

„Helge, my Lord."

„How long have you been a guard of the great hall?"

„Two moons, my Lord."

„As of now you are assigned to the tenth division. And you, dwarf, will be their commander. Let's see if you make soldiers out of them." The Steward smiled coldly. „Helge, lead your new commander to the soldiers' quarters and introduce him to his men."

The guard bowed, his face an embarrassed red. He turned on his heel and left the hall. Kíli followed. No, he didn't like Denethor. Not in the least. But he was employing elves, and Tauriel must be one of them.

„The elves in your service," he asked the man. „Do you know them? Where do I find them?"

The man didn't even bother to answer but looked stoically ahead, his face dark.

„What about the tenth division? Why did it sound as if your assignment was a punishment?"

„Because it is."

Helge stopped in front of a large stone building that seemed to be the soldiers' barracks and entered. Kíli followed him inside and towards a steadily increasing hubbub. The man pushed the door open to what looked like soldiers' quarters with wooden bed frames and some stools. Several men were sitting on the ground, legs in dirty leather trousers crossed, some were playing dice, some were throwing daggers at the already trashed furniture, others were brawling, and all were drinking. Judging by the stench in their quarters, their laughter, and the flush on their faces they had been drinking for quite some time now. Kíli's jaw clenched.

„These are soldiers of Gondor?"

„The tenth division. Useless pack. Cut-throats and wastrels, all of them. And thanks to you I am now one of them," Helge spat. He made a vague gesture towards the wooden beds, or what was left of them. „Welcome to your quarters." He turned and left.

Kíli cursed slightly but didn't bother to call him back. He would deal with the angry guard another time. Silently he watched the men who didn't take any notice of him. This was going to change now.

As the first arrows plunged between splayed legs and into wooden tankards, the men jumped up, shouting and looking for their weapons. The ones who seemed ready to attack him with their bare fists, Kíli held in check with his bow.

„Quiet!" He roared. „I am Kíli, son of Dís, and you have been assigned to me by your Steward. You will clean up this mess and be ready for weapons' training at sunrise. You better be sober."

Before the stunned soldiers could react, he left the barracks and went to fetch his ponies.

„Master dwarf! Master dwarf!" A high voice, out of breath called after him. Kíli turned to see a boy run towards him, long ginger hair dancing around a thin and pale face.

Kíli stopped to let the boy catch up.

„Is it true you are in my father's service? That you are training his soldiers?"

„That depends on who you are."

The boy blushed. „Faramir, son of Denethor."

Kíli eyed the small creature who with his bright blue eyes and beaming face bore so little resemblance to the Steward.

„I saw you disarming the guard. That was quite a fight!"

„You watched? I didn't see you."

„I am small. I hid behind one of the columns." The colour of Faramir's face turned a deep red. „I am not allowed in the hall. But I saw you ride into our city and followed you."

„You obviously have a talent for shadowing someone. I didn't notice you."

„Tha… Thank you." Faramir cleared his throat. „Could you… I mean… Maybe…?"

„Maybe what?"

„Teach me. To fight. Like you did in the hall?"

„You are not in training?"

„Not yet. Father thinks I am not ready. Boromir is. My brother. He is older than me, stronger."

„How old are you, boy?"

„Twelve."

„That is young. But not too young. I can teach you some."

„Really? How to wield a sword and an axe? If I could do what you did today, no one would laugh about me."

„Why should anyone laugh about you?"

„Because… I like to read."

„What's wrong with that?"

„Father says I am weak. More of a girl than a fighter. Nothing like Boromir. I am clumsy too."

„If you managed to follow me like you did you cannot be clumsy. Maybe you have other qualities than your brother."

„That's what Boromir says." The boy smiled. „But if you would teach me, if I could handle blades as well you, Father would be pleased."

„I see." He looked at the boy again who was trembling with excitement. „How about horses? Can you handle them?"

Faramir nodded eagerly. „Sure. Why?"

„I need to see to my ponies. They need a stable, water, and fodder."

„I show you. Are you really from Erebor? A prince?"

Kíli tilted his head, and boy beamed.

„I read about the history of dwarves. About their ancient kingdoms. Is it true you can smell gems, and gold, and silver, and copper?"

Kíli laughed. „I wish we could. Would spare us a lot of digging in the mines. But it is true that we have a certain connection to stone."

The look of disappointment on the boy's face turned to outright shock when he saw Frosti and the pack horse tied to some branches of the tree in the middle of the plateau.

„That tree is sacred! Hundreds of years ago it grew from a seed planted by Isildur himself."

„Still a tree. A dead one."

„It is said that when the king returns it will blossom again," the boy whispered. „But my father says Gondor does not need a king."

He untied the horses hastily and led them to the stables.

Kíli watched him tend to Frosti and the pack pony. Faramir was gentle and attentive, a lot like Fynn. He wondered how the little ones had reacted to his departure. He missed them terribly. But he missed Fíli more. The old Fíli, the one he could play pranks with, laugh until he was desperately gasping for breath. The one who would just look at him and understand. The one who never judged and always had his back.

Faramir patted Frosti one last time and stowed away saddle and bridle. He took the saddle bags and tried to lift the dwarven long-sword Kíli had put with his belongings, but he did not manage even to lift it.

„This is heavy!"

„Aye. We will have to find a weapon that will suit you better."

„A letter-opener," the redhead answered, downcast.

Kíli grinned. „Ah, lad. Even a letter-opener can be a fierce weapon in the right hands. I know a Hobbit who fought his way through half of Rhovanion with a blade so tiny you would give it to new-born dwarflings to play with. But he was determined, and courageous, and saved our asses many times."

„A Hobbit?" Faramir clearly wasn't convinced. „You made that up."

„No." Kíli fetched a long dagger from inside his leather jerkin and offered it to the boy. „Take this until you have your own sword. It was forged by my brother and given to me as a birthday present many years ago. It is a fine blade and may just be the right size for you to practise."

Faramir accepted with a bright smile and started to wave about.

„Careful, lad. This one is really sharp. It goes through skin and bone."

The boy's smile grew even brighter. „Really?"

Kíli placed a hand on Faramir's arm.

„It is not the sharpness of a blade, or the swiftness of an arrow that counts. Only that which they defend.* Remember that, young Faramir of Gondor. It is a principle every good soldier lives by."

„I will. Thank you."

„And now, out of here. If you want to learn how to use a blade we should make haste. It is near sunset."

Faramir turned and ran. The boy was eager and a quick learner. What he lacked in strength he made up with quick thinking and a good eye. At the same time he was reluctant to attack and always apologised when his blade connected with Kíli's sword. The boy didn't need training, he needed confidence. He would learn to fight with a sword in good time. But judging by his build, his wit and his good eye, his real talent probably lay elsewhere. He would try archery next time, Kíli decided. He had a hunch Faramir had the makings of a superb bowman.

„Boromir!" Faramir beamed at someone at Kíli's back and waved.

One didn't do that during sparring, the boy needed to concentrate if he ever wanted to become a fighter. But he was young, inexperienced, and obviously excited to meet his brother. Kíli had been like this as a dwarfling and driven Mr. Dwalin mad. And he knew getting lectured wouldn't improve the boy's performance.

„Look, Boromir! I have a tutor! He is teaching me to fight!"

Kíli turned round to meet the brother. His sword slipped out of his hand and hit his foot.

Tauriel lifted one eyebrow.

The red-haired youth next to her sneered.

„A dwarf who cannot keep hold of his sword. Is he dumb? His mouth hangs open."

Kíli heard his teeth snap shut. He should say something. Be witty and charming. But his brain felt like jelly.

He could only watch dumbfounded as the elf steered her horse towards the stables. She had disappeared inside before he was able to move.

With one quick glance he saw Boromir come out of the stables and hug his brother who dragged him towards the square he had been training in. When Faramir started to demonstrate his newly learned skills in wielding a blade, Kíli entered the stables. Tauriel was brushing her horse's coat. When he stepped next to her she turned around. Neither of them said a word.

He had forgotten how beautiful she was. The curve of her lips. The green of her eyes. The pointy tips of her ears. He loved every little detail of her face. Her slightly upturned nose, the pale freckles on her skin, the twitching muscle in her jaw that betrayed her controlled expression.

„I found you", he breathed.

„Obviously." She resumed brushing the horse's coat.

„I have been looking for you."

She stopped in her task. „Why?"

„I missed you." It sounded shallow even to him. „I should have searched for you earlier. Years ago. But… well… I am here now."

„For what purpose?"

„Happiness. For both of us. Preferably together." He smiled, hoping it would be boyish and charming. More likely he looked like a moron.

„Happiness?" She stroked the horse's already shimmering coat again. „Happiness is an emotion most humans and dwarves find desirable. Not elves. We seek tranquility."

„You? Tranquility?"

„Yes. I am content."

„Content?" He guffawed. „Are you sure you are not dead?"

Her lips curled into a smile. She turned around again and looked at him.

„You have aged." She reached out to touch the worry line around his mouth.

Kíli jerked back, and she withdrew her hand as if burnt. Her face was blank again, revealing no emotion, but he noticed her fingers clenching into a fist.

„There is white in your hair."

Damn. Trust an elf to discover the grey hairs in his dark mane. He shouldn't have those at his age, he was much too young.

„I am mortal, if you remember. We age."

„Elves age too. Much slower of course, but we do. We just don't show it that obviously."

„Thank you for reminding me."

„You are welcome."

Was she trying to be funny? No, most likely not. She was just behaving like an elf.

She looked at her clenched hand and opened the fist, slowly uncurling her fingers. He saw red lines where her nails had bitten into the flesh of her palm.

„Are you well?" She asked, not meeting his gaze.

„Yes. You?"

„Thank you. I am fine."

„Good."

Durin's ass. All those years. All those tears. And that was all he could come up with?

He felt like a lad again, back in the dungeons of Mirkwood, fascinated by the alien beauty of the elven captain. But back then he had been funny, witty, bold. He had managed to get her attention, to make her look at him, talk to him. And when they had discovered they were not so different after all, dreaming of lands that wanted to be discovered, of adventures that were awaiting, they had talked nearly the whole night.

He sighed.

„What is troubling you?"

„Nothing. Just remembering. Do you think of the past sometimes?"

„Yes, I do. My past is considerably longer than yours, I have experienced more that I have to think about."

„Do you sometimes think of… us?"

„Very often."

„We had good times. We were happy."

„Yes, we were. For a while."

He bit his lip. „I made you live a life that was not meant for you. I should have seen that sooner."

„The past is beyond our reach. The future too fickle to grasp. We only can be the forgers of our present, if he we have the strength and the skill."

„Protect me from elvish proverbs."

„Durin IV, actually."

„Huh?"

„Durin IV was very wise. I like his proverbs. He also wrote poetry, love poems mostly, but those are lousy. He still managed to marry three times, produce five children and thirteen grandchildren."

„You know more about him than I do."

„I could teach you."

He laughed, imagining Balin shudder at the very thought and looked up at her. Her mouth was smiling, those cute dimples were showing, and her eyes were sparkling with the humour he had always found so intriguing.

„Mahal, I love you."

The words had slipped from his mouth before he could do anything to prevent it. But by Durin's hairy arse, it was the truth. He loved her.

„Don't." Her smile died. „I cannot take any more grief. I am content now but it was a long way."

He groaned and pushed back his hair with both his hands.

„I never wanted to cause you grief. I wanted to make you happy. I wanted to be with you, to be your husband, to love you and to cherish you until I draw my last breath."

„I know."

„I still do."

„Yes, I know." Her voice was barely a whisper now.

He let out a shaky breath.

„Is there not anything I can do?"

„Do not remind me of what I have lost. Do not make me want you and a life I cannot have."

She turned and walked away from him. Her shoulders were set, her demeanour was one of utter solitude. He watched her leave the stables, and thought she had never been more beautiful to him and never more unreachable.

He roamed the streets of Gondor that night, his hands brushed the white stone, felt it hum beneath his skin, felt it sing to him as stone can only sing to a dwarf. The stone, although tamed by chisels and hammers of men, recognised him as one of its own, forged out of stone, born out of rock. The stone spoke to him and comforted him, but it could not heal him. It could not close the wound in his soul or mend the rip in his heart. It could not stop his voice from wanting to scream itself hoarse. It could not dry his tears nor engulf him in a warm embrace. It would only remain solid and true when his feet would stumble and support his back when his legs would give way.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

* Faramir takes Kíli's advice to heart, as we will see later. When the Captain of Gondor meets Frodo and they both agree they don't want to own or use the One Ring, Faramir says: „I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend." (J.R.R. Tolkien, „The Two Towers")


	15. Chapter 15

**XV.**

„What do you mean, you want to take your leave?" The Steward of Gondor looked at him coldly. „I have accepted your offer of service. I have entrusted a division of my soldiers to you. Moreover, my silly son has taken a liking to you. Is there so little honour in the Line of Durin that you would change your mind over night?"

Kíli hung his head. He knew he should not allow that man to speak to him like this. He should not even bow to him. He was a prince of Erebor, his lineage went back to the beginning of time. The arrogant human in his fur-trimmed cape was no more than a mere steward, governing the white city until the rightful king of Gondor would return. But right now he couldn't care less.

„No, my Lord. Forgive me. I will perform my duties."

His voice, hoarse and quiet, echoed in the stone hall.

„See that you do. This is no place for fickleness."

The stone vibrated under his fingertips as he was kneeling but instead of comforting him, it mocked him.

„You may leave. And don't bother me with stupid notions like this, I am a busy man."

Kíli got up and limped out of the hall, feeling tired and old. What had he expected? That she would fling herself into his waiting arms? Stupid. He hadn't been thinking things through – again. Fíli was right. It was time to grow up. His heart clenched at the thought of his brother. Was Fíli all right? He could not forget what he had seen in Galadriel's mirror, the broken and bloody body of his brother. It was a memory of the past, an image of what happened at Ravenhill. It had to be.

„Where are you going?" Faramir's voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

„Archery field."

„Can I join you? I mean, just watch? I promise, you will not even notice me."

He looked at the boy, who was nervously biting his lower lip. If there was one soul in Gondor that felt as miserable as he, it was Faramir.

„Of course you can. Come."

Kíli put his arm round the kid's shoulder and steered him into the open. He pitied he boy. Imagine growing up with a father like this who made you feel useless, unwanted, unworthy. Life in Ered Luin had been hard, food was scarce, work not easy to find for the exiled dwarves. But Fíli, and Thorin, and his mum had always cared for him. Loved him. He had been happy then, and he fleetingly wondered if he would be ever again.

Trailed by Faramir he went to the impressive training ground. A wide field on the upper level of Minas Tirith, overlooking the vast land. He could even make out the outline of Osgiliath.

As he readied his bow, he caught Faramir's glance.

„What is it?"

„Your bow. It is so different from ours," the boy said, wide-eyed. He carefully touched the recurved tips. „Why is it bent like this?"

„More force in the shot. More accuracy. I can use it on horseback as well."

He handed his weapon to the boy who took it with wide eyes.

„It is very heavy!"

„Thrice folded wood with steel inlay so that it won't break. And it is not heavy to me, dwarves are a lot stronger than men. Have you ever tried archery?"

The boy shook his head. „Father thinks I may hurt people by accident."

„I think he will be surprised."

Kíli picked up a bow that lay abandoned on the field and sent the boy to collect the arrows still sitting in the targets. A carelessness that would never happen at Erebor. But discipline and duty didn't seem to matter much to the men of Gondor. This morning, only a handful of soldiers had shown up for the weapons' training Kíli had ordered the previous night. The guard Helge, muttering insults, a young peasant boy who introduced himself as Nimir, and some drunkards who probably had mistaken the way to the training field for a shortcut to a still open pub. Only Nimir had been alert and interested in learning. He told Kíli that after his parents' death he had left the poor farm and taken up service with Gondor's army. To Kíli's utter surprise Denethor supplied the soldiers neither with weapons nor with armour. They had to bring their own, which meant that not only was their gear ill-matched, but sometimes, as in Nimir's case, absolutely insufficient. He had an old but decent enough sword but only a patched leather vest for a harness, and worn-out boots that were much too big. Kíli had given him some coins to buy better boots but wasn't sure the lad wouldn't spend the money on drink or female company instead.

He turned his attention to Faramir, who was bobbing eagerly up and down on his feet. Kíli grinned at the boy's eagerness and determination and started to demonstrate the right grip on the bow and how to nock an arrow. Faramir was a quick learner and handled the weapon with natural ease. It didn't take long until he was able to ready bow and arrow in a wink of an eye. Shooting however was a completely different matter. The closest the boy came to hitting anything was when his arrow nearly pierced a stray dog that lifted its leg on one of the straw targets. Countless times the small read-head ran to collect his arrows and tried again. Eventually he let the bow sink, tears of disappointment in his eyes.

„Father was right. I am a failure."

„No, you're not."

Kíli looked at the boy whose lower lip was trembling. His hand on the bow was holding so tight his fingers were nearly white. The skin of his wrist was swollen and angry red where the bowstring had snapped against his lower arm.

Gently Kíli opened Faramir's clenched fingers.

„You know, wanting something too much can be a problem. You're getting in your own way then."

„I should just give up."

„No, you shouldn't. Never give up on what you truly want."

Kíli felt a smile capturing his face. He should listen to himself from time to time instead of being such a self-pitying sod.

„Never give up, Faramir of Gondor. The time will come where you will prove your worth."

The boy looked at him with eyes full of tears and a glimpse of hope.

Kíli put down the bow and picked up several small pebbles. He placed one of the stones into Faramir's hand and closed his fingers around it. The others he put at the boy's feet.

„Shut your eyes," he instructed. „Feel the stone. What is it like?"

„Small."

„And?"

„Smooth. Hard."

„You think it will fly?"

„If I throw it properly."

„Good." He walked away from Faramir. „Do it. Throw the pebble at me."

The boy's eyes snapped open. „I can't throw it at you. What if I hit you?"

„I want you to. Don't worry. I'll catch it. Close your eyes and try to figure out where I am. Rely on your senses. Then aim and throw. Take all the time you need."

Humming a little song, Kíli started to wander about the training field. Finally Faramir threw the stone. Kíli caught it before it could hit his chest.

„Excellent. Again."

When Faramir had thrown several more pebbles with accuracy, Kíli noticed Tauriel approaching the training field and watching them. Only his instinct that made him catch another stone without even looking saved him from getting struck right on the forehead. He couldn't help but laugh.

„You probably don't even need a bow. You could strike down enemies just with some stones."

„Really?" A delighted smile emerged on the boy's face.

„Aye. And if you are able to aim and throw like that, you can shoot arrows as well. We'll try again tomorrow."

„Tomorrow? You mean that?"

„Sure. Today was just a warm-up."

„Great! I must tell Boromir! Thank you." The boy ran off.

„Why did you make the boy throw stones as a first step to archery?" Tauriel asked.

„Just an idea. Something I did as a dwarfling. I thought it might work. He is a little too excited to shoot a bow. I wanted him to calm down. He needs to know his aim is true, to rely on his senses."

„Just an idea?"

„You don't approve?"

„On the contrary. That's how my mother taught me."

„Your warrior mother made you throw pebbles?"

„It is a very effective way to make the movements of one's hand become one with the eye."

„Yeah, I know. It was so very effective it knocked Fíli out could. He had a bump on his head the size of a melon and was unconscious for nearly half a bell." Kíli grinned. „My mother used another hand-eye-technique on me then. My left buttock has never been the same."

The faint giggle that escaped Tauriel and that she masked by clearing her throat made his heart swell. A wide, silly smile captured his face, and he tried to mask it by scratching his stubbly chin.

„What else would you recommend for the boy? What else did your mother teach a dreaded stone-thrower like you?"

„To feel the wind. How to measure the distance to a target."

„Good idea, I will do that."

„Is that what you are here for? To tutor the Steward's youngest son?"

He shook his head. „No. Denethor employed me to lead one of his soldiers' divisions. But that's not why I came to Gondor. In truth, all I wanted was to find you. I saw a vision of you in the white city and just followed the lead."

Her green eyes, wide with astonishment, searched his. „I had a similar vision. I saw you in a forest looking at me. How can that be?"

„Lord Celeborn explained kindred spirits sometimes find each other."

„Lord… Celeborn?" Her eyes grew even wider. „You have been to Lothlórien? You talked to the Lord of the golden wood?"

„Aye. He was friendly. But he spoke in riddles a lot."

„He is regarded one of the wisest elves in the whole of Arda. He has lived to see many mighty kingdoms rise and fall. Lord Celeborn and his Lady Galadriel are of the noblest blood. Even to lay eyes on one of them is regarded the highest privilege among my kind. And you … talked… to him?"

„He talked to me. In my head, too."

She gasped. „That is a rare honour."

„To be honest, I found it a little impolite. He entered my thoughts without permission. But it didn't feel like an intrusion." Nothing like the Black Voice. „I guess he was just trying to be kind to me."

She smiled. „And you, no doubt, were grateful and polite."

„Of course." He returned her smile, and his heart jumped at the light sparkling in her eyes. „ When have I ever not been?"

„I recall at least a dozen different occasions. I even found it refreshing sometimes. For instance when you constantly called that famous warrior names. Wanda…" She giggled and this time didn't bother to hide it. „Wartnose. You called her Wartnose."

„She had this huge thing growing on her nose. It looked like a second head. And she boasted about riding with the Rohirrim instead of me. Moreover, she was unkind to you. She deserved to be called Wartnose in front of all those dwarven Lords and warriors."

„Yes, she did. And she deserved Bofur slapping her nose and claiming he mistook the wart for a giant bug."

He laughed. „I totally forgot that! Bofur always had a thing for you."

„He was always very nice to me."

„His eyes bulged every time he looked at you, and he started to stutter."

„His face turned red."

„And he was always twisting his moustache. Remember when he got it so entangled that his finger was stuck? We had to cut him free."

She was laughing now, and Kíli thought he hadn't heard a lovelier sound in what seemed a lifetime. It sounded like silver bells.

She looked at him, not reserved and controlled as before, but open and almost encouraging, a small smile still lingered at the corner of her mouth.

„What brought you to Minas Tirith?" He asked.

„I was travelling through Gondor with a group of Dúnedain, and we stayed at the white city. Lord Denethor asked if I would tutor his son Boromir. I agreed."

„You were travelling? That's what you always wanted."

She tilted her head. „I have seen many places I longed to see when I was serving King Thranduil."

„I'm glad you did. I often thought that when I brought you to Erebor I switched one prison for another."

„Erebor was never a prison to me, nor was the Mirkwood. And you didn't bring me, I came to the Lonely Mountain because I wanted to. I stayed at Erebor because that was the place I wanted to be. Because it was your home and I wanted to be with you."

„It was never your home."

„No, it wasn't."

„I am sorry for that."

„It wasn't your fault."

„It was my kin who made you feel unwelcome. Unwanted."

„You thought they would get used to me. Even like me, once they got to know me. And you were right, some did."

„The majority didn't. I should have foreseen that."

„If you had you wouldn't be you. Thinking the best of others was one of the traits I admired in you. Your open-mindedness, your optimism, that was what intrigued me from the start."

„I thought it was my good looks."

She smiled. „You were covered in cobwebs and dirt."

He winked. „Admit it. You liked it. I smelled of adventure."

„You smelled of Troll."

He chuckled. „Right. Opportunity to bathe on our quest was rare. I don't think I'd ever smelled more appalling in my whole life. Not even when Fíli emptied a bucket of dung on my head."

She grinned. „How is your brother?"

„Fine." At least, he hoped.

„You are frowning. Do you doubt his well-being?"

„No." Yes. „No. It's just, I've been away for over two moons now."

„Why did you leave?"

He looked up at her, at her face, so calm and yet so concerned, at her slightly parted lips, so inviting. Her eyes were green and deep, and he had to struggle not to get lost and pour out everything that troubled him. He would frighten her away. What use would it be to tell her his miserable story anyway? He was far away from Erebor and the orcs of the Grey Mountains, he was in no danger, he didn't want to think of any threat, and his leg hadn't troubled him ever since he left. Fíli, yes, Fíli was a constant source of worry. Yet there was nothing he could do but follow his brother's orders and stay away from him.

„Kíli?"

Her voice had always found a way directly into his core, and he had to swallow down the emotions it stirred.

„Will you tell me the reason you left?"

He wanted to say that it was nothing. That he just had taken a leave. Seized an opportunity to travel. But he couldn't. He couldn't lie to her. So he slowly shook his head.

Her brows knitted together, those lines appeared on her forehead that marked worry and hurt, her lips tightened.

„I must go now. My duty does not allow me to stay any longer."

She turned and walked away, her hair dancing around her like licking flames. He had always been fascinated by her hair. It was not only the colour, the most beautiful and deep red like the purest vein of copper igniting the heart of stone. He always thought it had a life of its own. And the way it was swinging at her back now and curling at the ends was an infallible sign that she was angry.

Kíli wasn't sure whether to curse, or cry, or break someone's neck – preferably his own. It had gone so well. They had talked, he even had succeeded in making her laugh. And then he had to ruin it all.

Someone nudged his leg.

„What?"

The stray dog stood next to him and waggled its tail. It nudged him again.

„What do you want?"

The dog sat down and looked up at him hopefully.

„Hungry?" Kíli searched his pockets and produced some treats he spoiled his ponies with. He offered a biscuit to the dog that scoffed it greedily.

„You are lucky," Kíli said to the scrubby dog while feeding it another biscuit and some nuts he kept for attracting ravens. „You have survived archery training and now you found yourself a royal servant."

The dog barked.

––––––––––––

Lucky, the dog, Kíli soon found out, was a determined creature. He slept outside the barracks at night and stuck to Kíli's heels from the time he left in the morning until he entered the building again at night. He followed Kíli wherever he went. All attempts to shoo him off were in vain. He wagged his tail and looked at him from deep puppy eyes that somehow made Kíli search his pockets for treats instead of throwing stones.

Lucky proved to be useful, too. When the barrack door hadn't been closed properly one morning, the dog slipped inside and in the process of searching for Kíli jumped on sleeping bodies, licked faces and barked enthusiastically. Kíli, who usually had thrown buckets of water on the sleeping men, stood and watched as the men yelped and cursed and jumped out of bed with astonishing speed to grab the creature. Lucky, unsuspecting of any danger coming from those grabbing hands, joined their game of tag and barked excitedly. With his aid, waking the soldiers and getting them up and about took half the time Kíli usually needed.

Unfortunately, that was about the only improvement.

The days passed, and although the men made some progress in hand-to-hand combat, they still didn't show up at training on time, still fought sloppily, still got drunk each night and didn't care a damn about Kíli's orders. And that wasn't the only thing that didn't work out the way he hoped.

He had managed to engage Tauriel in several more conversations that went beyond discussing their duties. She had told him about the places she had been to, the roads she had travelled, she had listened to his tales of life in Erebor. But each time she seemed to open up, even laughed about something he said, she would abruptly stop chatting and leave. Whenever he was sure he detected something in her eyes, a certain warmth, maybe even affection, she would instantly turn distant and cold. Whenever he thought her face lit up with something like joy to see him, she would avoid him for days. At dinner it was even worse. Denethor insisted that Tauriel sat next to him. The widowed man talked into her ear, filled her goblet of wine and leaned close to her in a way that made Kíli want to grab his greasy hair and dunk his face into his broth. Instead all he could do was to violently butcher the meat on his plate, and grit his teeth, and watch narrow-eyed as Tauriel answered the offending man with a small smile and politely removed his hand from her arm.

It was enough to drive him mad.

Sometimes he caught her looking at him, looking so lost and vulnerable that he was about to drop whatever he was carrying and rush to her, embrace her, hold her, protect her. But then she would set her jaw and that look was gone, replaced by what in the past he used to call her elven visage, and he was wondering whether he just had been imagining things, hoping for something he would never have again. Sometimes she would smile at him, and allow him to smile back at her, but then he would do something stupid like winking at her, and her smile would falter. Sometimes when she was close to him, he could feel something vibrating between them, like it had all those years ago at their first encounter in the dungeons of Mirkwood, some energy flowing and buzzing between their bodies. But unlike back then when she had been intrigued and touched his hand to feel the energy tingle on her skin, Tauriel now stepped back quickly, eager to put enough distance between them not to feel whatever it was that came into life when he was close to her.

Kíli often wondered why he continued to stay at Minas Tirith. It had been a full circle of the moon now, and Tauriel hadn't warmed up to him. She was friendly but distant. Sometimes she even seemed to elude him. He should accept that whatever love she once had for him was dead now. But he couldn't.

Faramir was the only bright spot in those days that were followed by weeks. The boy was eager to learn and practised with his bow whenever he found the time. He shot well now, nearly never missed the target, and began to master his nervousness. Kíli decided it was time for the boy to take the next step. So he took Faramir to the archery field just in time to catch Tauriel and Boromir practising.

„I have a proposition to make," he said. „Shooting on one's own is boring. The four of us should compete against each other. What do you say?"

„An archery competition?" Tauriel asked while looking at the small redhead who tried to hide behind Kíli's back.

Kíli could practically feel Faramir tremble with excitement under the elf's gaze. He grinned up at the elleth.

„You think you're up to it?"

Tauriel raised an eyebrow. „I had centuries of training."

„Must suffice."

She didn't return his smile. „You are aware that none of you will have a chance against my skills."

Faramir moaned.

„Don't be too certain of victory, elf. With dwarves and men there is always the element of surprise."

„One more time I feel the need to warn you. I will not hold back, that is unworthy."

„Good." Kíli smiled at her. „We wouldn't have it any other way."

„What do think you will gain?" Boromir asked, his brow furrowed. „Why do you drag my brother into this? He is not ready for a competition, at least not against the Lady Tauriel and me. You can humiliate yourself, dwarf, but let him be."

Kíli looked at the youth, and Boromir lowered his gaze. „Faramir is a fine archer. Let him prove his worth. You will be surprised."

The boy tugged at his sleeve, but Kíli ignored him. There was no backing away from it now. He set up the target, measured the distance and nodded at Boromir.

„Why don't you start? Let's make it simple. The four of us shoot at the same target. The arrows remain put. Whoever fails to hit the centre is out."

The youth nodded grimly and shot. His aim was true, and his smile was confident when he stepped back to let Kíli take aim. When it was Faramir's turn, the boy was trembling so badly, Kíli feared he would miss. But he hit bull's eye and let out a shaky breath.

Boromir hugged him affectionally and tousled his hair. „Good shot. You may win after all, little brother!"

Kíli smiled. Yes, the boy might.

After three more rounds, the target's centre was pierced with arrows sitting close to one another. Hitting bull's eye now was becoming increasingly difficult. Boromir lifted his weapon again, drew back the bowstring and aimed. The lad was not bad, but he was a swordsman rather than an archer. And from the way he was squinting one eye now and fixing the target, Kíli instantly knew he wouldn't make it. Boromir's hand that held back the string started to tremble with the effort and when the arrow was finally set loose, it buried itself in the yellow ring. Boromir cursed and let the bow sink. He was out.

Kíli looked at the target and at the arrows that had pierced the straw. He looked at Tauriel. There was no way he could beat her, she was a superior archer. But he knew of her weakness to shoot at a certain angle. It usually didn't affect her performance, her aim remained true, the arrow flew only the tiniest bit off course. No one usually even noticed the flaw. But the way the arrows sat in the target now demanded a shot exactly from the very angle she found difficult. He decided to make the task even more difficult.

With a thud Kíli's arrow hit exactly where he had wanted it to.

„Damn." He hoped he had put the right amount of disappointment in his voice at his obvious failure to hit bull's eye. „Turned out you were right. I cannot defeat you."

Her green eyes pierced him as she took an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. The shot was difficult, yes, but she still could make it. Unless… There was her other weakness. He only prayed she hadn't overcome it in the last twenty years.

He stepped up to stand close to her when she lifted her bow and took aim.

„Difficult shot," he said while massaging his neck and stretching his shoulders. Her gaze flickered sideways to his fingers running over his exposed throat and lingered on his collarbone. A smile played on his lips.

Her arrow missed its goal by the length of a fingernail.

„You're out," Kíli said softly.

„That leaves me." Faramir's voice was quavering. He fumbled for an arrow and had trouble nocking it.

Kíli put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. „Calm down, lad. It is just archery."

„B… But… None of you made it… Now… I have to… I can't!"

„Of course you can. Forget about the competition. Don't think. Close your eyes, feel the arrow in your hand, feel the strength of the bowstring. Breathe. Imagine your arrow fly and hit the target. Just as if it was one of those pebbles you're so good with."

Faramir's fingers opened and the arrow swooshed towards the target and hit the centre.

The boy's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Boromir came running and hugged him, whirled him around and laughed.

„You did it, little brother! What a shot!"

Kíli watched the brothers and smiled. Boromir was beaming and laughing and obviously happy about his brother's performance. It was nice to see. The youth usually tried to be too much like his father. Faramir couldn't get the grin off his flushed face. The boy was just right, he only needed a little more confidence.

„You let him win," Tauriel whispered next to him.

„He won all by himself. The final shot was his to make. And it was a fine one, the lad's got real talent."

„You deliberately let your arrow hit off centre."

„I don't know what you are talking about." He smiled, his eyes on the brothers who were chatting now, arms round each other's shoulders.

„It was a kind thing you did," she said. Her fingers closed around his and squeezed them briefly.


	16. Interlude

I realised that the last two chapters made some readers sad which wasn't what I intended at all. The encounter between Kíli and Tauriel wasn't quite what some of you expected. But keep in mind that twenty years of separation is a long time, even for an immortal elf. She needs time. I know she still loves him. She has just to figure out whether she dares to give in to her feelings. And maybe she needs to be reminded of how much he means to her.

In the meantime, until next chapter is up, I give you a little something to enjoy.

Sword

* * *

 **Interlude**

„Kíli? Can I ask you something?"

„Of course." He stopped and looked at Faramir. The boy seemed nervous.

„What is it?"

„Um. They are talking about you."

„Talking?" Kíli looked at the red-haired youth blankly. „What do you mean?"

Faramir shrugged, not meeting his eyes. „Talking. About you."

„Oh. I see." He sighed. Of course they would. He was a dwarf in a city of men. „It doesn't matter. I am used to that."

Faramir nodded. „I bet you are. But… Still. All those women. I have never… I mean… There has never been so much talk."

„Women?"

Faramir nodded again.

„Even women like to mock, I suppose." Kíli said more light-hearted than he felt. „Best ignore it, my lad. People just like to gossip."

„Oh no, you misunderstood! They don't mock you. How could anyone ever mock you? They…" Faramir lowered his voice to a whisper. „…talk… about you. About how handsome you are. Your face. Your smile. Your…" The boy blushed crimson. „Your behind!"

Kíli blinked.

„Not just the servant girls. The high born ladies crane their necks when you pass by. Even the Lady Tauriel is always watching you when you are looking elsewhere. Please. I want to learn how to do that! Can you teach me to be handsome? To make girls look at me like they look at you?"

Kíli blinked again.


	17. Chapter 16

**XVI.**

It was market day, and the streets were swarming with people. The smell of herbs and fried food was in the air, and a buzz of voices and laughter engulfed Kíli and Faramir as they were squeezing through the mass of people. Despite the early hour every living soul in Minas Tirith seemed to be up and about, inspecting the goods, negotiating with the merchants, and gossiping with friends.

Kíli had been on his way from the soldiers' baths back to the barracks, dressed only in a tunic and leather trousers, his hair still wet, when Faramir had rushed up to him. The boy was wearing new leather bracers decorated with Gondor's symbol, the silver tree, and he was eager to present them to Kíli.

„A present from Boromir," he beamed. „They are perfect, don't you think?"

„Yes, a very fine piece of craftsmanship. The perfect size for your arms. Your brother has a good eye. What was the occasion for such a fine gift?"

„My birthday. I am 13 today."

„Well. That needs to be celebrated." Kíli searched for the coins in his trouser pocket and put an arm round the boy's shoulder. „Come. I'm going to buy you a present at the market."

Now the excited boy was dashing to and fro, examining each and every market stall regardless whether the merchants were selling dead fish, or jewellery, fruit, wickerwork, or weapons. He tried some daggers that were clearly not well-balanced and put them down again to move on, Kíli in his wake who was considerably less enthusiastic about live chickens and rabbits, vegetables, doilies and knick-knacks than the boy.

The red-haired she-elf standing at a stall offering herbs and roots for sale caught his eye. She was negotiating with the merchant.

„Keep your thumb off the scale when you're weighing the herbs," Kíli advised the man.

The shopkeeper glowered at him and offered Tauriel a toothy smile. „Never listen to a dwarf, my Lady."

„Pay him no more than half of what he demands," Kíli murmured to Tauriel, but loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear. „It will be more than enough. He has at least doubled the price seeing that you are not from Minas Tirith."

The man sighed. „Dwarves are the death of every honest merchant."

„I believe he is right and you are charging too much for your goods."

„Never! I have a wife and five children to feed. Not to mention my mother-in-law, she is a dragon."

„I offer you three silver coins for the tea, the herbs and the flower buds."

„We will starve to death and it will be on your conscience, Lady elf, but agreed. As long as you take that dwarf with you. I don't want him to ruin my business any more than he already has."

Kíli grinned. Tauriel stowed away her purchases and moved on, Kíli and Faramir at her side.

The boy beamed at her. „Kíli is buying me a present! He said I can choose whatever I like unless it bites or has tentacles."

Tauriel's lip curled in a smile. „A wise precaution."

„Can I look at that?" Faramir pointed at a display of colourful toys.

„Of course. Pick whatever you want."

He watched the boy search through the items and occasionally laugh at one toy or another.

„You like him," Tauriel observed.

„He is a good lad. But much too sad."

„Like you."

He gave her a perplexed look.

„Whenever you watch Faramir and his brother I detect pain in your eyes. You try to conceal it but I know you. I see how much it hurts you to see them together. Something happened between Fíli and you, and whatever it was it's the reason you left Erebor."

He bit his lip and nodded without looking at her.

„In the past you always told me when something troubled you. You trusted me then."

„I still trust you."

„Then why do you keep your worries to yourself? My heart weeps to see you like this."

„I will tell you. Just not now."

A muscle in her jaw twitched when she nodded curtly. When she turned to leave Kíli held her back.

„I will tell you, I promise. I want to, I need to. I feel as though I'm suffocating. But it's not easy. A lot has happened. Give me some time." He took her hand. „Please, don't think that I do not trust you. You always were more than my lover or my wife. You and Fíli, you were my best friends. And now that Fíli…" He closed his eyes briefly and forced his voice to remain steady. „Now that Fíli is at Erebor and I am here… To know that you are still my friend, regardless of what happened, is more than I could ever hope for."

In truth he was hoping for more. That she still loved him. That she would return to him. But he hadn't been lying. He needed her friendship as much as he needed her love.

She searched his eyes. „I will always be your friend."

Then she smiled and nodded towards the toymaker's stall. „Faramir is waving at you. You better join him before he knocks someone off their feet."

Kíli reluctantly let go of her hand and went to the market stall.

„Found something?"

The boy showed him a miniature man made from metal.

„Look! It's a mechanical archer! It can shoot a real arrow. May I have it?"

„Sure."

While the boy was playing with his new toy, Kíli paid what he thought was much too much for a thing so simple that a dwarven toymaker would have been ashamed of it. But Faramir was delighted and let the little arrow fly again and again. Suddenly he let the toy sink. A frown appeared on his face.

„Isn't that your dog?"

„I don't have a dog," Kíli answered automatically. Everybody was referring to Lucky as his now. It was getting annoying. The beast was just a stray he was feeding left-overs to. It wasn't his fault the dog was following him like a shadow.

„What are they doing?" Faramir's voice was suddenly very high-pitched. His eyes widened with fear.

Kíli turned. He saw a group of men, heavily armed and laughing at a struggling bundle of legs and teeth. A rope was tied around Lucky's neck, so tight the dog's tongue had already turned blue. Yet he tried to fight his captors who were kicking him and hurling him against the nearest wall.

Kíli cursed and ran.

The first man he got off-balance by shoving his shoulder in his side. The brute stumbled and let go of the rope the same time Kíli kicked him in the groin. The man fell like a log. The second man tried to punch him, but Kíli got hold of his wrist and twisted his arm in one quick, sharp move. He could hear the joint dislocate, the man cried out in pain and went down on his knees. Kíli hastily removed the rope from the dog's neck, but Lucky remained motionless. His tongue hung from his blood-stained snout, and his breathing was faint.

A sharp pain made Kíli cry out as his head was yanked back. One of the mercenaries had grabbed his hair and was dragging him over the cobblestones. He bitterly regretted leaving his weapons at the barracks and not carrying at least a dozen hidden daggers like his brother. Suddenly the grip loosened and Kíli wrenched himself free. He rolled over to see a big, bulky man, still holding a fist full of his torn-out hair, pressing a hand on his bleeding forehead. Another stone hit the man who grunted and stumbled backwards. The third stone caught him right on the already bleeding spot. His eyes rolled back and his knees buckled. Kíli looked at Faramir who had another stone ready, but before he could shout a warning, the boy was brutally hit across the face, he tumbled over and collapsed. Kíli roared in anger and charged. He brought down the man who had attacked Faramir, kneeled on his chest, and punched him in the face. Once. Twice. A third time, a fourth. Cold steel pressed at his throat made him stop.

The blade tapped against his chin.

„Up," a voice commanded.

Kíli obeyed and got to his feet. The blade never left his throat.

„You are pugnacious," the man said with a vicious smile. „I like that. It's so boring when they don't put up a fight."

The big man Faramir had brought down was up on his feet again and looked down at Kíli. He slapped his face. It didn't hurt much, it wasn't meant to. The brute wanted to test his reaction.

Kíli bared his teeth and growled.

The man with the sword laughed. „Promising. It's been a while since we had our fun with a dwarf."

The big one rolled up his sleeves and let his knuckles crack. „Let's see if this one lasts longer than the last. Who knows, he might be just who we are looking for."

He hit him again, and this time it hurt. The second punch was even harder. The third momentarily blinded him. Kíli felt skin break and blood run over his face. He staggered back, and the instant the blade left his throat, he dropped down and rolled over to jump on his feet again right at the big man's side and pummelled him in the kidneys. From the corner of his eye he saw the man with the sword attack. Kíli grabbed the big man who was supporting his side and shoved him towards his companion. The impact made both men stumble, and he seized his chance to escape. Or so he thought.

A knee was rammed in his stomach, and he doubled over. He was kicked in the side with force and curled to protect his ribs when a fist grabbed him and dragged him up. A man with an eye-patch and a vicious scar cutting across his face twisted Kíli's right arm on his back. He brought a jagged dagger to the dwarf's face and let the tip rest at his eye. Kíli felt the sharp tip pierce the skin and tried to wriggle free, but the grip on his arm was like iron. He kicked the man in the shin. The dagger, a vicious weapon usually used by orcs, was pressed against his eye with even more force. Kíli felt panic rise and desperately tried to free himself. Scarface smiled. It wasn't a pretty sight.

„Taking out eyes has become my trademark," the man snarled. „I like the sound. And…" He cackled. „I like the sight. Did you know one can skewer the whole eyeball, and remove it from the socket, and it will still look at you? Only when you sever it completely from the body it is truly dead."

The dagger cut into the flesh right under his eye, and Kíli couldn't suppress a whimper. He tried to yank his head back, and with his free hand punched and clawed at the hand holding the knife but the grip didn't loosen. Scarface twisted his right arm even more, and the sudden pain in his bad shoulder made him scream out.

Suddenly the man yelped and buckled. Lucky had bitten him in the leg and didn't let go. The man kicked the dog and it crashed into the next market stall, but the little diversion was all the time Kíli needed. With his free arm he wrestled the dagger out of the man's hand and stabbed him. The grip on his right arm loosened, and he tore himself free to ram the heel of his hand right into the man's Adam's apple. Scarface choked and gasped for air. He went down on his knees, his hands grabbed his mutilated throat, his eye bulged.

„Look out!"

Kíli's head snapped up to see Faramir point at something behind him. The next instant he felt the air being kicked out of his lungs and went flying. His chin collided with the cobblestones, and for a moment everything went black. He tasted blood and felt a foot between his shoulder blades pinning him to the ground. But then his captor was flung backwards, and a whirl of red hair flashed like an eruption of burning lava.

Tauriel swung one of her long legs and her foot smashed into the man's face. His sword clattered on the cobblestones, followed by his collapsing body. As she spun round she unsheathed her daggers and let them cut the second man's face. It would have looked more like an elegant dance than a fight hadn't it been for the two groaning mercenaries at her feet. She put away her daggers, and Kíli struggled to his knees. His vision was slightly blurred but he saw Faramir affectionally petting a limping Lucky, before Tauriel's face was suddenly very close to his.

„Are you all right?" Her voice quivered slightly.

„You rescued me again," he smiled. „Old habits are hard to break, huh?"

„Why do you always have to make light of situations like these? You were in danger. This isn't funny."

Her fingers tried to still the bleeding under his eye, but were shaking too much. He caught hold of her hand.

„I am fine."

Her eyes were suspiciously moist and followed him as he stroked her fingers and placed a kiss in her palm.

„I am fine," he repeated in a whisper, and she nodded faintly.

When her fingers traced the lines of his face, they were still trembling. Kíli took her face in both his hands and brought her foreheads together. Her lips were so close to his now he could taste her breath on his tongue.

„What is going on here?"

Tauriel leapt to her feet. Denethor and Boromir, both astride two big horses, looked from the she-elf to the five men still not able to get up and finally came to rest on Kíli who ungracefully managed to get to his feet.

„What is going on here?" Denethor asked again.

„Father!" Boromir dismounted and examined his little brother's bashed face. „Faramir is injured!"

„You allowed my son to get injured?"

„It's not Kíli's fault! Five men were attacking him, father!"

„Faramir brought one of them down," Kíli reported with no little pride. The boy blushed and smiled.

„Nonsense." Denethor's cold voice cut him off. Faramir's smile crumbled.

The mercenary with the dislocated shoulder was up on his feet again. He nodded towards Kíli.

„That dwarf attacked us, my Lord."

The Steward's cold eyes pierced Kíli's. „Did you?"

„Yes. But…"

„They were torturing his dog!"

„I don't have…"

„A dog? You attacked visitors to my city because of a dog?"

„Those men are no simple visitors, my Lord," Tauriel spoke up. „Judging by their weapons and appearance they are mercenaries from the North and no friends to Gondor. My advice is to keep them in your dungeons until you learned their reasons for coming here."

„Very well," Denethor said. „I will follow your advice." He gestured to the soldiers at his side. „Imprison them. Boromir, take your brother to the infirmary. And you, dwarf, you might be Prince of Erebor and enjoy any kinds of brawling and misbehaviour at your mountain home, but this is a civilised city. You are in my service, and I expect you to behave accordingly. If you are so keen on fighting that you are willing to risk the safety and well-being of my youngest son, you should try your luck with orcs. Tonight you will lead the tenth division to Osgiliath."

„The men are not ready yet."

Denethor looked at him coldly. „Didn't you tell me you could train Gondor's soldiers far better than we could? Then prove it. At sunset you will ride to Osgiliath and go on patrol. You are not to return before dawn. I want the town free from orcs. That is an order."

The Steward turned his horse and rode off, trailed by his sons. Tauriel seemed to hesitate but then followed with long strides. The guards were putting the mercenaries in iron and led them away. The big one and the man who had carried the sword put their heads together and talked in a hushed voice. The big brute looked back at Kíli. He smiled cruelly and mouthed the words: „We'll get you".

Lucky hobbled over to the dwarf and pressed himself at his knee. Absent-mindedly Kíli patted the dog's head. He watched as the men disappeared in the crowd of bystanders. Mercenaries, no doubt, and of the worst kind. They had dealings with orcs, he was sure. Parts of their armour and weapons were orcish, and they appeared to be vicious and cruel enough to be on good terms with the black breed. He shook off the memory of the big one staring at him as though he'd recognised him, and turned his attention to Lucky who was whining softly. He checked the animal for injuries and was relieved that the dog seemed to have suffered nothing worse than bad bruising. Same as he. Every bone in Kíli's body was aching and his vision still was somewhat blurred. It had been a long time since he had been in a fight like this, and it left him strangely shaken.

Or was it Tauriel? She had been so close to kissing him. If only Denethor hadn't shown up. That stupid, arrogant human. Kili was sure he had been ordered to Osgiliath simply because Tauriel had been so concerned about him. She had been visibly shaken, something he had very rarely seen in the elleth before. Surely that must mean she still had feelings for him?

He longed for a chance to collapse on his bunk and dream of her face, her touch, the blazing of her hair. Instead he would have to force the soldiers of the tenth into a last-minute drill. Kíli swore under his breath as he made his way to the barracks. He entered the soldiers' quarters and roused the men.

„We have been ordered to patrol Osgiliath tonight. So I scheduled an extra training lesson in hand-to-hand combat."

„You seem to need some training yourself, judging by your looks", Helge sneered. The men laughed.

„If you don't want to look the same, you fetch your weapons and get going. Now."

Reluctantly the men obeyed and started sparring. But it didn't take long until the first of them dropped their weapons and were about to leave the training ground. Kíli intercepted them.

„What do you think you're doing?"

„Getting a drink. Much too hot for your little entertainment."

„That little entertainment can save your life. You need the practise."

One of the men stared at him and then started to laugh. „You really believe that, don't you? You think that by improving our skills we have a chance to survive?" He was laughing even harder.

„What Ruyak is trying to say," another one spoke up, „is that we don't stand a chance. You're a stranger from some posh kingdom where everything works just the way you want it to. But this is Gondor, dwarf. Mordor is breathing down our necks. You can survive only for so long."

„I intend to live to a very old age," Kíli told him. „And since you are under my command I will do anything so that you will as well. Back to training. That's an order."

„You don't get it, do you? We are ordered to patrol Osgiliath. That is as good as a death-sentence. No one returns from Osgiliath alive and whole. The city, or what's left of it, is under the reign of orcs, and they take great joy in slaughtering us. Whole divisions have perished there."

„We won't." Kíli looked at the men steadily. „Any of you ever been there? Anyone who can tell me anything about the city, its streets, its structure?"

Ruyak nodded. „Me. We went in with nearly sixty men. Not even sixteen came back."

„I understand that the odds are against us. But our lives are not yet forfeit. Tell me everything about Osgiliath you remember. And tell me about the orcs that attacked you. How many were there? Where did they come from? How did they operate? Which weapons did they use?"

The men shared a glance, and Ruyak nodded. He started to recite all that had happened when he had been fighting at Osgiliath. Another one joined in. A third came up and told the history of Gondor's former capital and how the proud city at Mordor's border had long since been lost to orcs.

It was late in the afternoon when Kíli eventually concluded training and advised the men to get some sleep. He followed them to the barracks, his head still swarming with all the information Ruyak and the others had provided him with. He had a pretty good idea how the lost city looked like, which buildings he could use to position archers on and from where the orcs would most likely attack. He just hoped the men would fight and not flee. They were not bad with weapons, although he wished they were better equipped. But they lacked discipline, and that was what worried Kíli the most. It could get all of them killed. Which was probably what Denethor had in mind when he ordered the patrol. It was an elegant way to get rid of a rival.

Kíli entered the barracks and didn't have the heart to leave the miserable looking and badly limping dog outside. He didn't even object when Lucky climbed in his cot and lay down next to him. Having a warm, living being at his side felt strangely comforting, and despite everything that went on in his head it didn't take long until his eyelids dropped and he drifted into a slumber.

„There is someone here to see you."

Kíli woke with a jolt, and his eyes widened when he saw Tauriel standing behind the man who retreated, not without glancing at them curiously.

She crouched down at his bunk.

„How are you feeling?"

„As if I'd been punched in the face."

„Have you been to a healer?"

„No."

„I didn't think so. I brought some arnica and birch to treat your wounds."

He opened his mouth to say it wasn't necessary, but closed it again. He still had a headache, and his shoulder was hurting so much now he was afraid he wouldn't be able to draw the bowstring.

Tauriel petted Lucky who was looking up at her adoringly. „I will tend to the animal as well. Isn't that the stray from the archery field?"

He sighed. „Yes. Those men tried to kill him."

„Faramir told me. He is very impressed with your actions."

„He took quite a blow. How is he?"

„Still a little dizzy but otherwise unharmed. He sports a black eye and is very proud of it."

„He has every right to be. The boy was very brave."

„So were you."

He smiled. „I was stupid."

She brushed his hair from his face with her fingertips. „Brave." Her lip twitched playfully. „And stupid."

„You know me. That's my style."

She smiled, a true and genuine smile that made him feel light and warm. Carefully she applied some ointment to his face, and he took the opportunity to lean closer to her. He could smell her scent, nothing artificial, just the pure scent of her skin and her hair, still smelling of leaves and trees, of flowers and grass although she dwelled in a city made of stone. Her eyes were green and shining like emeralds, and he felt like losing himself in that deep green.

„Take off your shirt."

He blinked, and couldn't suppress a sassy grin. „We are alone for mere minutes, and you're already undressing me? You just cannot resist me, can you?"

„I want to tend to your shoulder."

„That's what they always say."

She frowned, and Kíli inwardly slapped himself.

With some difficulty he pulled his tunic over his head. His shoulder was giving him more trouble than he wanted to show. When she applied the cool and soothing salve he had to grit his teeth.

„Does it hurt so bad?"

„Nah."

„You still haven't mastered how to tell an untruth without giving yourself away."

„Usually I'm doing fine. Maybe you just know me too well."

„Yes, maybe." She started bandaging his shoulder. „It needs rest. You shouldn't use your right arm for a few days but I know that is not an option. Denethor insists that you patrol Osgiliath tonight and nothing I said could change his mind." She paused. „You don't have to do it, you know. You are not obliged to Gondor. You can walk away whenever you want."

„I know. But I am a son of Durin. We do not flee from a fight."

„Somehow I knew you would say that." A small smile curled at the corner of her mouth. "This bandage supports your shoulder and will ease your pain at least a little."

„Will I be able to shoot a bow?"

„I think so. It still will hurt though."

She pinned the bandage over his chest and let her fingers trace the old scars. Her touch made his heart race, and Kíli tried to keep his breathing regular as she was exploring the angry line that cut through his skin right down to his navel.

„You always thought you ought to have died on Ravenhill that day. That I shouldn't have saved you. Do not think I didn't know."

He stayed silent. She was right. And not.

„I couldn't let you die. All I could think of was that I mustn't lose you before I truly knew you. That I needed to answer your question. That I wanted to tell you that yes, I could love you." She cast down her eyes. „I was acting selfishly." Her voice was barely a whisper now.

His lips acted on their own as they pressed on hers.

Her lids fluttered in surprise when they broke apart. Kíli wanted to tell her that she was the least selfish person he knew, that he was glad she had saved his life, that even after all those years he couldn't believe she had come for him. That all his blaming himself for being alive while Thorin was dead was his own screwed way of dealing with loss, and failure, and shattered dreams, and had never been her fault. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, that no words existed to describe the emptiness, the loneliness, the yearning.

But the next thing he knew was that he was kissing her again. And she, Mahal be blessed, was kissing him back.


	18. Chapter 17

**XVII.**

The sun was setting over the ruined city of Osgiliath, and the sky was blazing in a deep red. It looked like blood.

The soldiers were unusually silent as they looked at the sky and exchanged glances that ranged from worry to outright fear. Kíli set his jaw and mounted Frosti. He tried not to look at the crowd that had come to see them off but he couldn't help searching the faces for hers. The men and women who had gathered at the big square were pale and quiet, some were even weeping as the tenth division was preparing to leave. It seemed the men hadn't exaggerated when they compared this mission to a death sentence. Faramir held a struggling Lucky on a leash and tried to hold back his tears, his brother was gnawing at his lip. Only Denethor was wearing a smile and giving his soldiers an encouraging nod.

Kíli was spurring Frosti into a trot to take the lead when Tauriel suddenly appeared next to his horse's neck. She held out her hand, and on her open palm sat the rune stone.

Since he had given it to her at the lakeside the day after Smaug's attack the small, engraved stone had often changed hands. It had become somewhat of a ritual whenever one of them had left on a dangerous mission. It was a silent way to say „I love you" as well as a vow to return safe and sound.

„Promise me." There was a strain in her voice. Her face was calm, controlled, but he could see the turmoil in her eyes.

She didn't want to stay behind. She wanted to ride to Osgiliath, to fight at his side, to protect him. Her hands longed to close around the hilts of her daggers, he could see the nervous twitch of her fingers. Her willowy body was trembling with anxiety. Fear and faith were battling each other, he could see it in her look. It was as if a storm was raging in those forest-green eyes. She was barely holding it together.

His heart ached with the desire to comfort her, his fingers longed to stroke her cheek. But he knew she would not want anybody to witness what to her was weakness and what to him made her even more precious and loveable.

So he looked into her eyes and made a silent vow to return. He had just found her again, tasted her lips again. Not even an army of orcs could stop him from getting back to her.

His fingers brushed her palm as he took the rune stone.

„I promise," he said quietly.

He didn't look back when he galloped out of the city and led the tenth division through the desolation towards the ruined city of Osgiliath. Looking back would have meant turning back, and he was determined to fulfil his duty.

When they reached the city walls, he left three of the men to watch over the horses and instructed them to have their mounts ready for a quick escape at any time. Then he gathered his men for last instructions and encouragement, but the faces that now turned to him were not grim and determined as he was accustomed to. There were no rude jokes and bets about who was going to kill most of the black breed, no reminders not to lose one's head and no gruff replies to go and kiss an orc. The soldiers now facing him had nothing in common with dwarves. Gone was their insolence and desire to fight, their arrogance and big mouths, and Kíli wasn't sure how to deal with shaking hands and deathly pale faces that spoke of fear and the sheer wish to run for their lives. They looked like cattle being led to the slaughter. There was young Nimir who had surprised him greatly by thanking him for buying him boots and even returning the change and who turned out to be a swift and talented swordsman. Helge, who always questioned his orders and offered badly masked insults, and whom he had seen practising the movements and tricks Kíli had taught. There was Ruyak, his jaw set and his eyes dark, there was Haleth who was unable to keep his ever-present knife still in his trembling hand.

„I don't want to be here," Kíli spoke up. „Not in these ruins, not at this hour. Orcs are creatures of the dark, they see better at night than we do, they move swiftly and without a sound. To face them when night falls and in a place like this is madness."

„Now you tell us," a voice murmured. Kíli grinned.

„Lucky for us, orcs aren't very clever. Nor courageous. They will rely on the element of surprise, they will be confident their sudden appearance will frighten us. And they will be rattled when neither will work. We know where they will most likely attack from, and we will be ready. Orcs shun light, so we will light fires. Orcs try to separate troops in order to engage a single soldier with many of their fighters, so we will close ranks. Their armour is weak and can be penetrated at the armpits, the abdomen and spine. Some don't even cover their necks or faces, and yes, they are ugly buggers and have bad breath, and you don't want to come near enough to smell them, but driving a sword right into their mouths or eyes will finish them off. Once they realise we stand as one and we fight, they will draw back. They are cowards, they don't know how else to deal with courage and determination than to run."

He looked at the men in front of him. „When I was assigned to the tenth division someone told me it was something of a punishment. That you were nothing but scoundrels, and everything you have done ever since proved his point. You are ignorant, aggressive, intimidating, and just what I need now. If the orcs think we are an easy target, we will prove them wrong. If someone at Minas Tirith thinks we are not up to the task, we will prove them wrong. If any of you think we will perish tonight, we will prove them wrong."

„Aye," Nimir said.

„Aye," Ruyak agreed, grimly.

„Aye," other voices set in, and Kíli nodded.

„Let's go and kill some orcs."

„Aye!"

Followed by the men, his sword ready, he entered the city. Or what was left of it. Osgiliath, no doubt, with its tall buildings and impressive gateways, wide streets and fountains, had been Gondor's pride once. Now loose stones crunched under Kíli's iron clad boots, he walked on cracked and overgrown cobbles. The mighty city wall still stood, but stones had tumbled in several places, and Kíli passed a gaping hole big enough for a grown man to squeeze through. He peeped through and not too far away could make out the place behind several burnt trees where they had hidden their horses. They ventured deeper into the city, and Kíli had to admit that the survivors of previous missions hadn't exaggerated: The inner city with its torn-down buildings and giant stones blocking their way reminded him of a labyrinth, a mass of hideouts, traps, and dead ends. Empty windows sat in broken walls like dead eyes, smashed and half open doors creaked their hinges, here and there shattered weapons and bleached bones in rusty armour lined the streets. The scarred walls bore stains that reminded him of blood, whether it had been red or black, he couldn't be sure. The once beautiful city was a testimony of the ever-raging battle between Gondor and Mordor, one day reclaimed by men, the next seized by orcs. Kíli, although he was a dwarf and had grown up with a strong attachment to his home soil like all of Durin's folk, wasn't sure Osgiliath was worth it. He believed in fighting for one's home, for one's place of origin, for sacred ground. That was why he had followed Thorin to Erebor, that was why he had always supported Balin in his wish to reclaim Khazad-dûm, even wanted to go for himself. But he knew a lost cause when he saw one. He wondered if Denethor had ever set eyes upon the war-scarred city, if the Steward knew that his grim determination to hold Osgiliath for Gondor, honourable and admirable as it might be, was bound to fail.

A deep and gloomy silence pressed down on the men who were walking through what used to be the market square, the archers scanned the surrounding buildings, bows ready, arrows pointing at rooftops and the remains of once-strong walls, now standing alone like broken teeth.

„Where are they?" Helge whispered next to him, his voice strained, his eyes constantly checking corners and windows.

„They will come. They know we are here," Kíli answered in a low voice. His hand twitched to cover the dully throbbing scar, and he quickly gestured to the cauldron of tar they brought with them. „Prepare the arrows. We will need them once night has fallen."

He waved Ryuak nearer. „Is this the place?"

The soldier nodded. „Last time they came over that wall."

Kíli quickly surveyed the tumbled-down stone wall that at some places was still high enough to hide whatever – or whoever – was behind it. It was the most likely place for orc forces to gather for an attack. But it put them to a disadvantage as well. They'd have to climb or jump to get over the wall, and then they would fall right into the spears and spikes the soldiers were now erecting. Kíli's men were not going to give the enemy time to recover, they would shoot fire arrows and close their ranks around them.

He positioned the soldiers led by Helge, Ryuak and himself on the three sides of the square, where they would wait for the attack, hidden behind the ruins, on rooftops and in the empty windows. Nimir and another young and eager man stood watch and would sound the horn at the first sight of orcs entering the city. Now all they could do was wait.

That was the worst part.

Kíli had never been patient. Waiting, and worse, waiting quietly had always been difficult for him. But it was nothing compared to the silent and motionless wait for the enemy to come upon him, waiting for the first arrow to hit, the first sword to strike, the first blood to flow. Waiting to see those who wanted to kill him, waiting for them to be near enough that he could make out their faces, waiting for the moment when his sword went into flesh with that sickening sound. Waiting. _Waiting_. It always made him want to crawl out of his skin. His heart missed a beat at each scraping sound, every shadow startled him. His mouth was so dry he found it difficult to swallow while at the same time his bladder wanted to be emptied. He felt sweat run down at his back and cursed the heavy leather harness. He needed to shift in order not to lose the feeling in his legs but didn't dare. In the darkness that had begun to fall a while ago he could make out the still figures of the men around him, the whites of their eyes were glistening in the pale light of the moon, their dark bodies were crouched behind whatever cover they had found: the torn-down wall of a house, a big piece of rock that had once belonged to a giant sculpture, a turned-over cart. His hand felt for the arrows in his quiver for what seemed the hundredth time. His men were well-prepared, he told himself. At least as well prepared as they could be given the circumstances. Now all they could do was wait. The orcs would come. He could feel them. The constant throbbing in his thigh told him the enemy was near. He just had to wait.

Subconsciously his fingers closed around the rune stone in his pocket.

Gondor's horns sounding the alarm and the pain inflaming the old scar came as one. Kíli jumped to his feet, his bow ready, an arrow nocked and waiting to be set loose, when the stamping of many feet, the grunting of many black voices filled the city. The first strangled cries came from where the long, sharp spears had been set up, and Kíli looked at Nimir who was already working on a fire with his flint.

„Now!" He shouted the command and saw the flickering of flames light up around him.

The first sparks of Nimir's fire ignited the tip of his arrow, and he aimed at the dark figures trying to climb over the still twitching bodies of their impaled comrades. More burning arrows followed, cutting through the dark like the tails of a comet, lightening the pyres and burying themselves in grey flesh. The mass of orcs slowed down, confused, panicked. Kíli drew his sword and rallied his men.

„Attack!"

He stormed forward, his sword ready, the pain in his shoulder forgotten, his ears ringing with the sound of metal clashing on metal. A massive orc with an eye-patch and a warty face swung its mace, and Kíli ducked. As the spiked mace swooshed over his head, he rammed his sword upwards and right into the orc's middle. The stench of its guts spilling out filled his nostrils as he jumped over the fallen corpse to attack another fiend. From the corner of his eye he saw Ryuak hacking and slashing his way through rows of orcs, closely followed by two other soldiers. Shoving back a now headless orc, and wielding his sword dripping with black blood Kíli turned just in time to behead another fiend that was about to impale one of his soldiers with a long spike decorated with severed limbs. The Gondorian nodded his thanks and engaged a fat orc in a fight while Kíli's sword blocked a deathly blow to his head. His shoulder screamed out in pain, and he gritted his teeth as he tried to force down the jagged blade. He stomped his foot in his iron clad boot on the orc's toes. The creature let out a shrill scream and loosened its grip on its sword. Kíli drove his sword deep into the grey flesh of its loin that was uncovered by the rusty armour. The screams got even shriller.

How long they had been fighting he had no idea. At some point Kíli had taken his sword in his left, his mutilated shoulder was hurting so much now his right arm refused to function. His ears were ringing with the sound of weapons clanging, of bodies crashing against each other, of cries and moans of the wounded and dying. He trod on bodies and slipped on ground that was slick with blood. But the orcs were retreating.

Nimir appeared at his side, his arm bleeding, his teeth white in his bloody and sooty face as he was grinning widely.

„They're fleeing! We won! We won!" He turned towards the soldiers and waved his sword. „Victory! For Gondor!"

Kíli knew that most likely it wasn't true. Rather than victory they had gained only a respite, although the orcs were running now, back to the wall from where they had come. But he let Nimir laugh and shout and the others join the little celebration. They could use that glimpse of hope. He even caught himself laughing along with them.

Suddenly his Morgul wound flared up with pain, red-hot and angry, a certain sign of approaching orcs. His head whipped round to see dark figures climb over the city wall. Dozens at first, then hundreds. His shouts of warning were drowned by war cries in black speech, his arrows, although bringing down every enemy he targeted, couldn't slow them down. Orcs were washing over the city now like a black flood. He saw men fall, pierced by black arrows, mutilated by orc blades, heard cries of pain and fear. Kíli's breath caught in his throat. That was Ravenhill all over again. But he would not repeat his mistake. Thorin's mistake. He would not try to fight a superior enemy at all costs.

„Retreat!" Kíli shouted at the top of his lungs. „Turn round! Back to the market square, retreat!"

At the sound of his voice the mass of orcs changed course and headed towards them, leaving an opening at the left. Kíli saw one of his men stop and hesitate. No. Didn't he realise that this was what the orcs wanted? Didn't he know they wanted to lure him into that small street that looked so inviting? Surely the man must see that this was a trap? But the soldier, Kíli recognised him as Jónion, turned and headed towards the corner that the orcs seemingly had overlooked.

„No!" Kíli bellowed, but Jónion kept running. When he vanished in the small street, others saw their chance to flee from the black mass and followed.

„No!" Kíli shouted again, his voice cracked. „Don't go there! Retreat! Back to the market!"

But the men didn't listen, and Kíli could do nothing but watch as they ran towards their doom. Right next to him another soldier dropped his sword and made towards the corner.

Kíli managed to grab this arm. The man turned, his eyes were a mixture of fear and fury, his face was bashed and bloody. It took several seconds before Kíli recognised him as Helge.

„Let go!" The man tried to yank free.

„No. Don't go there. It's a trap!"

„How do you know?"

„I know. That's how orcs operate. I've seen it often enough."

„Why should I believe you?" Helge tried again to free himself from Kíli's grip. „Why should I listen to you, dwarf?"

„Because I am bloody right, you fool!"

Another of his men passed him and disappeared in the dark, ignoring his calls to turn back. Kíli shoved Helge aside and cursed.

„We must stop them. Use your weapons if you must but don't let them enter the alley. It's a death trap! We must get our forces to the market square. From there we can make it to our horses."

„I … lost my sword."

Kíli tossed his own weapon over. „Take this but don't lose it as well! It belonged to my uncle and is dear to me."

He lifted his bow and aimed at two of his soldiers running in his direction. „Back! To the square!"

The men hesitated, their eyes darted from Kíli to the street behind him. Next to him Helge lifted the dwarven long sword for emphasis. „Back!"

The men turned on their heels and ran towards the market square. Angry shrieks erupted when the orcs realised their trap had been discovered. Black arrows were following the running men. Orcs tried to block their way, their terrible weapons ready to chop up anyone who was trying to break through. Kíli shot arrow after arrow, killing orcs that tried to herd the men towards the alley and forcing the enemy back so that his men had at least a chance to reach the market. Helge wielded the mighty sword and gestured to his comrades to retreat as ordered. And then they heard it. The sound of men being slaughtered in the small alley behind them; death cries, shrill, terrible, no longer bearing any resemblance to human voices. Kíli felt his blood turn to ice.

Helge made a movement as if wanting to enter the ally.

Kíli stepped in his way. „Leave them. They are dead, nothing we can do."

Helge looked at him, his eyes in his deathly pale face charcoal black.

„Do you know what orcs do to the dead and dying, dwarf?"

„Yes, I know. Head for the market square if you don't want to be mutilated and eaten yourself. Retreat if you want to live."

Helge stared at him. Then he turned and ran towards the market.

Kíli notched his last arrow and shot it right into the eye of an orc that was about to attack Helge from behind. He tightened the grip around his bow before he ran himself, black arrows hit the buildings around him. A grey flash next to him made him turn and slash out with his bow that caught the attacking orc right in the face. He hit the creature again, black blood splattered hot on his skin, and the orc stumbled backwards. Kíli ran on, clearing the way with blows of his bow until he reached the market where the fires were still burning. He saw Helge, Ruyak and to his relief young Nimir among a group of maybe forty men that were grimly fighting off the attacking orcs.

„Retreat!" Kíli shouted and gestured them to follow him. They battled their way through small streets and what used to be the rooms of torn-down houses until they finally reached the city's main wall. One man right next to him stumbled and fell, an orc arrow in his back. They reached the wall and squeezed through the hole Kíli had detected earlier. The men he had left in charge of their horses had gathered the terrified and nervously prancing animals and were now tossing the reins to each man in reach. Kíli jumped on Frosti's back and shouted for Helge and Ruyak to lead the soldiers to Minas Tirith. He steadied Frosti who was rearing up as the other horses galloped away. An arrow flew so close the feathers scraped Kíli's cheek. Still, he held Frosti's reins in an iron grip, the pony under him now reduced to a mere mass of muscle and the sheer will to run. Only when the last soldier had galloped past him to safety, did he let loose the reins.

„To the city, Frosti! Run!"

With a mighty leap his stallion raced towards the white city on the far horizon that glistened in the pale light of the moon like silver. His small, hard hooves thundered as the pony overtook the bigger horses. Kíli sounded the horn, and the gates opened.

Once safe inside the city he slid off his horse and patted Frosti's sweaty neck while he looked at the group of men and counted. Eighteen were missing, and some had been wounded. But even so they looked ridiculously happy and were clapping each other's shoulders, embracing those who had been woken by the nightly turmoil and came running now to welcome them.

Kíli didn't wait for any official to greet them on their return. He wasn't keen on meeting Denethor tonight and explaining what happened. He had lost almost a third of his division to orcs. Never in all his time as Captain of Erebor's forces had he suffered so many casualties.

He didn't have the nerve to make a speech to the soldiers as it was customary for a dwarven commander. What could he say to them anyway? That most of the men would still be alive had they listened to him? That he had no idea how some ignorant idiots like them made it into Gondor's service? That he was the biggest idiot for thinking he could turn blighters like them into soldiers?

Silently Kíli took Frosti's reins and led him to the stables. He unsaddled and checked the pony for injuries before putting a blanket on the animal that was dripping with sweat.

He heard the stable door open and braced himself to meet Denethor.

But it wasn't.

She was running towards him, her long, red hair flying like wings of giant bird, and then she was in his arms, holding him tight. Her mouth closed on his, her hands wandered over his back and neck as if to check that every muscle, every bone was unharmed. Her tongue opened his lips and didn't let go until they were both gasping for air, only to meet again in another kiss that spoke of years of loneliness and yearning, of desire and passion, of love lost and found. He felt her leg wrap around his, her hand found its way under his layers of leathers and shirts until her hot touch made his skin shiver. He shoved her against the stable wall, his body pressed against hers, his hand dug deep into her hair, her arm around his neck drew him closer, her teeth bit in his lip. He heard a deep, predatory growl escape his throat, and Tauriel pushed him back.

He gasped and blinked.

„Someone's coming." She straightened, her eyes on the stable doors that were now opening for the Steward.

Denethor had obviously been fetched out of bed; his eyes were puffed, his thin, long hair was unbrushed, the shadow of a stubble darkened his chin, and he looked anything but pleased.

„What are you doing here?"

Kíli couldn't help but laugh. Sure, Tauriel's appearance didn't give anything away. Apart from her tousled hair and flushed cheeks she looked perfectly normal, calm and controlled as ever. As for himself, Kíli was sure, even a blind man could guess what just happened. He was still trying to catch his breath, his collar was torn wide open, and his pants were decidedly too tight. And, judging by Denethor's narrowing eyes and the way his small lips tightened, he had put two and two together.

„What," the Steward repeated darkly, „are you doing here? It is not yet dawn. I ordered you not to return from your patrol before dawn."

„The city was swarming with orcs. We had to retreat."

„Of course the city was swarming with orcs! That was why I sent you! I expected you to clear it from the black scum."

„It was not possible. Not with sixty men against hundreds of enemies armed to the teeth. We took heavy casualties as it were, I didn't want to lose even more men."

„That is the price we pay, dwarf. Every man who takes up arms knows that. It is an honour to give one's life for Gondor."

„For Gondor. Not for a completely senseless mission."

Denethor's eyes narrowed even more. „Senseless?"

„Osgiliath is lost. It is a bastion to orcs. Sending one small troop will not regain it, especially at night when the orcs are strongest."

„I am Steward of Gondor, dwarf. I don't need your dubious expertise."

Kíli sighed and forced himself to stay calm.

„You need to have a strategy, be cunning if you really want to free the city from orcs. Let me have a look at daytime, I am sure I will come up with something."

Denethor's voice was cold as he answered. „I did not employ you as my advisor but as a mere soldier. And I expect you to follow my orders. If I tell you to patrol the city at night you will do exactly what I said and not go there during the day. The fate of my soldiers is not your concern."

„Of course it is. I am their commander."

„I rule these lands. And I tell you that each and every Gondorian will give his life willingly and proudly for a mission like this. It is an honour. But I don't expect you to understand such virtues. Honour. Bravery. Loyalty."

„There is no honour in being slaughtered!" Kíli was yelling now. „There is no honour in sending soldiers into their certain deaths! To you their lives are worth nothing, you don't even supply them with suitable armour and weapons. The way you treat them lacks all honour!"

Denethor, who had taken a step back at Kíli's outburst, pointed a bony finger at him. „Don't you dare talking to me like that. You are still in my service. I can ban you anytime."

Kíli guffawed. „You think that impresses me? You are nothing but a fraud."

Denethor took in gulps of air before he spoke again. „These words I will not forget."

„Good."

The Steward turned on his heels, his cape billowing. He rushed out of the stables and shoved Helge aside who had been waiting quietly at the doors and was now staring from his Steward to the dwarf and back.

„What do you want?" Kíli snapped, and the man cringed visibly.

„I wanted to return your sword." He made a gesture as if to hand over Kíli's blade but hesitated and blushed. „But… I see now it is still stained. I will clean it properly."

The Gondorian stumbled over his own feet as he was rushing out of the stables.

Kíli pushed back his sticky hair and let out a deep breath. These humans were insane. Totally and utterly insane.

A hand closing around his made him look up.

„Come on," Tauriel said and her sensuous mouth was smiling. „Let me tend to your shoulder."

She led him out of the stables and to the big building that sat on the square high atop the city rings. Several fires were burning and illuminating Minas Tirith, and Kíli could make out singing and excited voices at the lower levels.

„Sounds like quite a party. What on Arda are they celebrating?"

She looked at him. „The return of the tenth division."

He stared at her, blankly. „Eighteen men are dead."

„Over forty live. Thanks to you. Apparently never before did so many come back."

„Oh."

He followed her into the building that seemed to be the Royal Wing. When she opened the door to a big and luxurious furnished room, he stopped.

„This is not the infirmary."

„These are my quarters. All my healing utensils are here. Do you wish to be treated in the infirmary?"

„No," he answered hastily. „This is fine."

More than fine.


	19. Chapter 18

**XVIII.**

She helped him take off his harness, outer leathers, and shirts and neatly folded each garment before putting it on a table. She was taking her time, and the longer it took the more he focused on her graceful movements, the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast until all he could think of was how much he longed to tear off his clothes and hers, to grab her and fling her on the bed and take her. He felt heat creep into his cheeks as her fingers slowly and carefully removed the bandage from his shoulder and chest. Her hands were calm and steady and set on the task. Yet it was the most sensuous feeling, as if she was stripping him naked. She rolled up the bandage and put it on the table with his clothes. Then she poured some water into a washing bowl, dipped in a cloth and began cleaning his face, his neck, his hands. The water turned dark with orc blood and soot, sometimes the cloth was stained red.

It was very quiet. All Kíli could hear was his own irregular breathing and his heart drumming wildly.

Every time she touched his skin it was as if hot shivers sped over his body, teasing his loin.

It was ridiculous. They had devoured each other at every opportunity in the first years of their marriage. He knew every inch of her body, every scar, every freckle, every spot she loved to be touched.

And yet this was different. New. As if they had become strangers again, waiting to discover each other for the first time. A wrong move, a thoughtless word, could ruin it all.

Carefully she brushed aside his hair, and his breath caught when her fingertips glided over his neck. He had to lick his suddenly dry lips and to close his eyes for a moment. And then her breath caressed the soft skin of his neck, and his eyes simply remained closed, and his skin tingled with joy at the touch of her lips and the tip of her tongue. His head tilted back by itself to give her the opportunity to savour his throat, his hand placed itself in the perfect curve of her hip that seemed to be made exactly for his touch. He drew her closer. His body ached for her, his heart ached for her, and he pressed himself against her, his hardness against her leg, his fingers in her hair, his hand in her neck guided her down to meet in a kiss. She responded readily, her tongue embraced his, her body searched his. He kissed her neck and her sexy pointed ears, oh sweetness, heard her moan softly in his ear and felt her press against him even more. Feebly his fingers fumbled open the lacing of her bodice and tunic until they touched soft skin and the sound of her draw-in breath nearly made him come. He shoved her chemise over her naked shoulder and let his tongue explore the lightly freckled skin while he was gently steering her backwards until they reached the bed and he could lower her onto the cushions.

Her skin, pale and smooth, waited to be discovered, her slim and sinuous warrior's body, usually so tense, softened at his touch, her nipples hardened, her breathing quickened. And then her body arched and opened, invited him to taste her, pink and wet and delicious, her fingers tore at his hair, her voice breezed with pleasure, and a deep moan erupted from her lungs as he gave in and pushed into her with might. Her legs closed around his hips and she rolled him around, her hair covered his face before she whipped it back, her eyes glistened like emeralds under half closed lids as she was riding him and speeding up their rhythm.

How different their bodies were, male and female, dwarf and elf, sinewy and lean, and how perfectly they matched. It was as if Aule had forged him just for that one task, to please and complete each other, to drive each other insane and finally collapse into one another, to hold each other tight until the trembling of the limbs ceased and left nothing but tired yet satisfied breathing.

His body was pressed against her back, his chin rested on her shoulder as his hand stroked her hot and sweaty body and finally spanned over her flat stomach that had been swollen with his child once. He felt a lump in his throat and pressed tighter against her for comfort, and she shifted and closed her arms around him. His mouth found hers and they needed no words to tell each other of their sorrow even after all those years, of their love and their promise never to part again.

He glided into her once more, gently this time, felt the beating of her heart on his skin, tasted the pulsating vein at her neck, caught her breath in his ear. Murmurs of love and encouragement were flowing from her lips in that beautiful elven tongue as he explored her, deep, lustfully slow, until he lost himself in the wet-hot tightness constricting around him and everything was light, and joy, and happiness, and had to simply be screamed out at the world.

Twilight flooded the room when he woke. He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scanned the room. It was nearly as big as the dormitory in the soldiers' quarters and richly decorated with tapestries and finely woven rugs. The giant four-poster bed was a mess, the cushions and blankets scattered all over the floor. The she-elf next to him was sleeping, her impossibly long hair covered her naked body like a blanket. Her face was so peaceful and relaxed, the way it was only in those very rare moments when she let her guard down. Something she had ceased doing in those last years that had been dominated by grief and speechlessness, constantly widening the rift between them.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"No dream," she said softly.

"No."

Her fingertips touched his chest. "You are really here."

"Yes, I am."

He looked at her, her expression still soft, her body insufficiently and so very seductively covered by her abundance of hair that glided over her milky skin and long limbs like silk, revealing parts of her that made longing flare up in him like a flame, hot and consuming. He wanted to savour every inch of this beautiful being, taste her, crawl into her, curl around her heart, and wrap himself around her like a second skin.

"Will you stay?"

He blinked. "What? Here? At Minas Tirith? No."

She nodded, and he could see the muscle in her jaw twitch ever so lightly and chasing away the softness of her features. She was on the watch again.

"You're going back, then."

"To Erebor? Yes."

Her expression hardened visibly, and only when he put his hand on hers did she look up.

"I won't stay," he said softly. „I must go back and make up with Fíli. But I will not stay."

"Why not?" Her voice was very quiet.

"Because you and I need to go somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere we like. The whole of Arda is open to us."

She sat up.

"You would really leave Erebor?"

"Already have."

"Your mother?"

He chuckled. "Oh, yes."

"Fíli?"

"Yes. No. I will not leave him. I just won't be around every day. I want to visit, though. I need to see him and his little ones. Durin's ass, I even need to see my mother from time to time."

She smiled and let her fingers trace his muscles and play with the dark hair on his chest. The touch of her fingers, so warm and utterly enjoyable, made him close his eyes and hum with pleasure. He heard her chuckle lightly and gently tug at some hairs.

"Tell me of Fíli's family. His wife. His children."

"He's got three, two boys and a girl. Wild things. Adventurous, sweet, clever, and utterly adorable."

"His wife?"

"Hrynn. Noble blood, beautiful, proud, every inch a queen worthy of Durin's Line."

She frowned. "But does he love her?"

"With all his heart."

"And she?"

"Loves him madly. I wouldn't be surprised if a fourth dwarfling was on the way when I return."

A genuine smile lightened up her features again. "I am glad to hear that. He deserves happiness. Your brother always cared too much for others. For you, for us, for his people. For Erebor. He didn't take care of himself."

He nodded slowly. "That's why I felt I had to stay with him."

"I never intended to make you chose between your brother and me."

"I know. I am sorry I couldn't be a better husband."

"Any choice you could have made would have been right and wrong at the same time."

"We will make it right this time."

"Are you sure you can leave Erebor forever? Live separated from your brethren, your family, your home? "

"I don't think it is home. Probably never was. Erebor was Thorin's home, mum's. A part of history and dwarven pride that needed to be reclaimed. Fíli made it into a home again, for all those who came, for himself, for his family."

"Not for you?"

"To me it was a dragon's lair covered with the remains of my people. It drove my uncle mad, it started a war, and I hated it. That's how I remember Erebor before the Battle, a dark place suffocating me. The next time I entered the mountain it was on a damned stretcher with you at my side. It became home then. I guess it ceased to be when you left."

"But you are the Prince. Will they let you go?"

"Guess so. Council members aren't terribly fond of me anyway. They made Fíli remove me from Council. There was even talk of stripping me of my Command."

She draw in a sharp breath. "But you are Captain of the Forces. You managed to build an army out of nothing. Today it is renowned for its strength in the whole of Rhovanion. I heard travellers and merchants talk about it, about how you fought off numerous attacks, about how you turned the Lonely Mountain into a stronghold without equal. They cannot do that to you."

"Apparently they can. And Fíli agrees. He thinks I'm lacking responsibility."

Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me."

"What?"

Her gaze pierced him. "You have been avoiding that for weeks now. Tell me what happened between the two of you."

He sighed.

"To be honest, I am not really sure. He wanted me to leave, I refused, he got angry. We argued and then he blamed me for a lot of stupid things I did in the past. I had no idea I had disappointed him and hurt him so much. So I did the only thing I could do and left, just as he wanted me to. End of story."

"Why did he want you to leave?"

He opened his mouth but didn't know what to say. How to say it. How was he going to tell her about the pain in his leg? The Black Speech in his head? The Morgul poison? That his old wound bound him to Darkness? He knew he had to tell her. She needed to know. She deserved to know. But he had no idea how to tell her. There was no gentle way, no possibility of leaving things out. He knew she would be furious. That she would want to find out who was behind all this. Would want to make someone pay. He knew that once he had told her, everything they had now, the love, the tenderness, the peacefulness, would be replaced by anger, concern, and the wish to fight. And right now he wanted not the elven warrior but his wife. He wanted her close to him, snuggled in his arms, her skin on his. He needed her to be with him. He didn't need any of the worries he left behind. There would be time enough to deal with them later.

He knew he was just gambling for time. Eventually he would have to tell her about the orc attacks and the poison, the pain, the fear, the Black Voice commanding him. About someone inside Erebor who wanted the sons of Durin out of the way, about the Grey Mountains, the colony of dwarves who turned against their own kin at the command of orc lords, the warrant on his head. How – and if – he was going to tell her about Eyra, he had no idea.

"We suffered attacks from orcs. I was injured," he finally said. It was the truth after all. "Nothing severe," he quickly added when he felt her tense.

"But Fíli wanted you gone?"

"He had the silly idea that I was in danger and wanted me to be safe. Or maybe he just couldn't stand me being around anymore. I don't know. It felt better to leave."

"Why didn't you talk to him? Running away is not like you."

"It's not as easy to talk to him like it used to be. He doesn't listen to me like he used to. It's not like it was when we were younger. Before Erebor. Before Thorin died. Sometimes it feels as if something were standing between us, something as big as the Lonely Mountain itself." He cast down his eyes. "Sometimes it feels as if my brother didn't return from the battle at Ravenhill, but instead someone else. He trusts others more than me. He relies on a bloody stranger like Dwoss more than on me."

"He loves you. You know he does."

Kíli shrugged. "Yeah. Sure. I know."

"On Ravenhill, Fíli was ready to sacrifice his life for you. Later, he stood up against the majority of his people, his advisors, King Thranduil and not to mention your mother when he accepted me as his sister and married us. He agreed to every change you made to Erebor's army, no matter how undwarvish everybody else thought your ideas to be. He loves you."

"Yes. I know."

"Look at me, meleth nín."

He did and felt sudden tears well up he quickly tried to cover with his lashes but which escaped nonetheless. Her fingers caught them in a tender touch, her lips kissed his eyelids, light as feathers. He drew her closer and buried his face in the crook of her neck. His heart screamed at him how much it had missed her, how much it needed her, what a bloody idiot he had been. His arms tightened so close around her slim frame that he almost feared he would break her. Never let go. Never ever let go again.

"Mahal, I am pathetic", he murmured, his voice muffled by her mass of hair. "Sorry for that." But instead of regaining his composure he clung to her even tighter. "I am sorry."

"A tear wept because of love…"

"… is as precious as a shining star. In know."

The elven saying made him smile and he released her from his embrace. Reluctantly.

"You know him. Fíli is not as quick to anger as you are, but he bears grudges a lot longer than you do. Give him time. He will come round."

"Yes."

"And maybe he even had good reason to be angry with you?"

"Quite possibly." He sighed. "I am not very good at obeying orders."

She smiled. "No, you're not. That's what I admired about you right from the start. Your independence of thought and your courage to do what you felt was right. I obeyed orders much too long. Orders I didn't believe in."

"You left Mirkwood against Thranduil's will. You entered battle against his orders." He paused and looked at her. "You stayed with me."

"All because of you. Before I met you I would never have done that. Not following the King's orders is outrageous. Unthinkable. I would never have dared. I would have been angry. But I would have obeyed."

"Maybe it would have taken a little longer. But eventually you would have followed your own judgement. You didn't need me."

"Yes, I did. I still do."

The sincerity of her voice made him swallow.

"You know that I had never met dwarves before. You know what the elves at Mirkwood say about your people. That you are greedy, treacherous, that you have no love for living things."

"You forget unkempt."

She laughed. "Yes. Although that bit was true. But I found you to be very different from what I was told, all of you. Apart from Dwalin and your uncle maybe. You didn't have hearts of stone. You cared about each other. Fíli was always stopping me when I passed his cell and asked about you. He was so worried. And you…" She smiled. "You were like no one I met before. You were cheeky and sincere at the same time. You were so interested in everything, you really wanted to learn about our ways, you were so open-minded. Everything you told me about your travels and your adventures sounded even more exciting because of the way you saw things. You saw wonders in every little thing. The world to me has never been the same. But all those years without you made it lose its colour. I need you."

He took her face into his hands and brought their foreheads together. "And I need you. Without you I didn't know who I was anymore. Now I feel alive again." He looked into her eyes without letting go of her face that was so close to his. "Gi melin. Menu tessu."

"Amrâlimê," she whispered. "A melamin."

* * *

Meleth nín = Sindarin for "my love"

Gi melin = Sindarin for "I love you".

Menu tessu = Khuzdul for "You are everything."

A melamin = Sindarin for "my only love"


	20. Chapter 19

**XIX.**

"Kíli!"

Faramir came running, his cheeks flushed. Before Kíli knew what happened, the boy flung himself into his arms and squeezed him tight. Lucky hopped around them and barked enthusiastically.

"I am so glad to see you! I searched for you as soon as I heard you were back from Osgiliath. Unharmed! Everybody is talking about how you brought back your men! I looked for you at your quarters, but the soldiers said you haven't been at the barracks for three days and nights now. My father told me you must have left without saying good-bye. But you wouldn't do that, would you?"

"No, lad. I have no intention of leaving and if I had I would say good-bye to you. We are friends after all."

"We are? Really?"

"Of course we are. We have been fighting together, you and I. That makes us sword-brothers."

"Sword-brothers." Faramir repeated, clearly impressed. Then he looked at him, eyes wide. "I don't have a sword."

Kíli laughed. "You don't need one to be my brother-in-arms."

Faramir pursed his lips. "Boromir owns a sword. Our father gave it to him on his thirteenth birthday." He fell silent.

"What did you get?" Kíli asked quietly.

"A book about warfare. I read a lot, you know."

Kíli nodded slowly. "A fitting gift for a future Captain." He tried not to sound too lame. What an utterly boring and stupid present for a thirteen year-old boy. He would have torn that thing to pieces.

"Yes." Faramir smiled not too convincingly. "But," he tugged lightly at Kíli's sleeve, "what if I knew where to find a sword? Would you come with me and help me pick one?"

"What's wrong with my dagger?"

"Nothing. But it is no sword, it's just a dagger." Faramir blushed. "I didn't mean any disrespect. It is a very good blade."

"Of course it is. My brother forged it himself. But as you pointed out, it is a dagger and no sword." He tilted his head and looked at the boy while he was petting Lucky who licked his fingers and snuggled his head into his palm. "Where do you think you could find so many swords that you could even chose?"

Faramir stepped closer. "The abandoned armoury," he whispered.

"The what?"

Faramir made a shushing sound. "I found it some weeks ago when I was exploring the outer ring with its tunnels leading into the mountain. It is forbidden to go there, the caves are in danger of collapsing."

"There's an armoury in those caves?"

Faramir nodded. "I don't know how long it has been out of use. Most of the weapons are rusty and blunt. But I thought you could tell which ones are still in good shape."

"Aye. Does your father know of that armoury?"

Faramir shrugged. "I didn't speak to him. It is not allowed to explore the caves, he will be very angry with me if he finds out. Please don't tell him."

"But… Wouldn't he want to know about those weapons?"

"Why? The highborns have their own armoury at the city centre. No one has any use for those weapons except me."

"Don't be so sure of that, lad." He put his left hand on the boy's bony shoulder. "Show me."

"Now? With pleasure!" Faramir beamed. Then he stared Kíli's right arm. "But you wear a sling. Have you been wounded after all? It's not easy to reach those caves, we will have to climb. I am not sure whether you can do that with just one hand."

"I'm good at climbing. And I'm not really injured, I can use the arm if necessary. It's just my shoulder that troubles me a little since our fight with the mercenaries. Has your father found out what brought them to Minas Tirith?"

"I don't know. But he spends a lot of time in the dungeons, questioning those men. What they are telling him must be good news. He always comes back smiling."

"Really? I didn't think those rats could put a smile on anyone's face."

Kíli followed the boy through the busy streets to the outer city ring where the houses were smaller and huddled against the side of mountain. It looked like the poor quarter of the city, the people carrying nearly empty baskets and chasing skinny chickens were wearing faded clothes and didn't look too well-fed. But they smiled and waved at Faramir who waved back and exchanged greetings. Sometimes the boy stopped and asked about a sick child or a runaway pig, and Kíli wondered if his father or brother had ever done the same.

In front of an impressive gate Faramir stopped.

"This is it. The city ends here. Beyond that gate begins the tunnel system that stretches into the mountain."

"But it's locked."

Faramir smiled and brought out a big key from his pocket.

"I asked a locksmith to forge me a key." He unlocked the gate. "I have several of those. Minas Tirith has a whole network of underground tunnels. Some lead into the mountain, others out of the city. I know them all. Many have collapsed, but some are still intact."

Kíli stepped through the massive gate and looked around. The walls were dressed stone, sound but simple and not anything like the elaborate work of dwarven stonemasons. Several tunnels were leading into the darkness. When Faramir closed and locked the massive gate behind them, instant darkness captured them. On the other side of the gate they could hear Lucky whine.

"The tunnel gets quite narrow," Faramir said as he lit up two torches and handed one over to Kíli. "Some rocks came down and we will have to climb. And there's a place where we must squeeze through a collapsed wall. It's only a small gap between the stones, a grown man wouldn't be able to get through. But you are not so much taller than me, you will fit."

Kíli eyed the boy's narrow shoulders sceptically but nodded. "Lead the way."

Faramir had not exaggerated. The tunnel they were now following was in bad shape. At some points they had to climb rocks higher than a grown man, at others they had to crawl and squeeze through small gaps between tumbled-down rock and debris. They slipped on loose stones and dust got into their eyes. Once or twice Kíli stopped Faramir before the ground could collapse under the lad's feet. But the tunnel wasn't beyond repair and Kíli wondered why no one had ever tried. Some of Erebor's underground streets and mines had been in far worse shape, and yet Bofur had managed to get them working again in no time. Men just didn't know how to listen to stone and make proper use of it, Kíli thought. A dwarf would never have abandoned the net of tunnels and caves built into the mountain. Or a fully equipped armoury for that matter.

He couldn't believe his eyes when Faramir eventually pushed open a door and lit some more torches. The armoury was huge, and Kíli sucked in his breath as his eyes fell on rows and rows of swords, axes, bows and quivers still full of arrows. He stepped closer. The metal was rusty, the blades blunt, some broken, the leather was torn and rotten. It must have been decades, maybe even centuries since the armoury had been in use. He wandered along the rows of swords, touched wobbly hilts and blunt edges and eventually picked a short, light sword.

"This one is not bad. Good balance. Forged well. It just needs some sharpening and wants to be polished."

He looked around until he found a whetstone and started working on the rusty blade while Faramir watched him closely.

"Give it a try."

Faramir reluctantly took the old sword in his hand. His eyes lit up as he felt the weight and perfect balance. While he was practising with the sword, Kíli inspected the rows of swords and axes again. Maybe half the weapons were in such bad shape they would be of no use. But there were enough that could be mended. He just needed a forge.

It was late afternoon when Kíli and Faramir, laden with several swords rolled in a dusty old blanket, entered the city again and carried their burden to the stables. They hid the swords under some straw before Faramir introduced Kíli to a smith who readily agreed to give over his forge to the dwarf for one day or two in exchange for some gold coins.

Satisfied with his day's achievement, Kíli went back to Tauriel's quarters and slipped through the heavy wooden door when he was sure nobody would witness him enter. They had agreed on keeping their marriage secret. They were pretty sure Denethor wouldn't react well to the news, and Tauriel didn't want to have to end Boromir's training abruptly. Kíli was fine with that. Enough people in Minas Tirith were talking about him already.

Tauriel turned round to meet him but stopped. Her brow furrowed.

"Where is your sling?"

"Oh. That. I had to climb some rocks and got rid of it."

The frown deepened. "You were supposed to keep that arm still and not climb or do anything that interferes with the healing process. Your shoulder needs rest."

"My shoulder is fine." He grabbed her around the waist and drew her close. "See?"

She looked at him sceptically. "What about your hand? Can you use it without pain in the shoulder?"

He cupped her breast and squeezed tenderly. "No complaints there."

Her lips curled. "And your fingers?"

He let his fingers wander to the lacing of her tunic but had trouble to open it.

"Damn. Still a little stiff. I need to practice."

Her smile widened as she assisted him in unlacing her tunic and guided his fingers to her soft skin. "Yes, you should practise."

–––––––

He leaned back against the wall, his arms around her slender frame, his chin rested on her head. His tanned skin was dark against her fair complexion that seemed to shimmer like a pearl in the silver moonlight that was flooding through the windows. She had wrapped her long legs around him, her fingers drew patterns on his skin, tracing the purple bruises on his ribcage. A souvenir from his fight with the mercenaries. Which reminded him of the conversation he had had earlier.

"I met Faramir today," he spoke up. "He told me his father had been interrogating the mercenaries but he has no idea what they told him. Do you?"

"No. I didn't even know he was questioning the men himself. I can ask him if you want me to."

"Nah. Keep away from him. He is much too fond of you."

"He is always very polite."

"That is not the word I would be looking for if I had to describe him."

She smiled. "He doesn't like you."

"Really? I never would have guessed."

"Imagine being in his shoes. A good-looking stranger comes into your town, a prince no less, and captures not only the heart of your youngest son but of all the ladies as well."

"Pardon me?"

"Don't play innocent. You know they like you. I saw you wink at some of them."

"I… was merely polite."

She laughed. "And what's more, he defies orders, saves the lives of your soldiers and is regarded as a hero by your people."

"I am no hero."

"Nearly everybody around here thinks you are. Have you seen your men?"

"Yeah. Went to the barracks, found them utterly pissed and told them leisure time was over. I scheduled training for tomorrow morning." He kissed her hair. "And I found weapons. Apparently there's a network of tunnels leading from Minas Tirith into the mountain and deep under the city's walls out into the plains. There are caves in the mountains that have been used for storage and safeguard by the old kings of Gondor. Faramir showed me an abandoned armoury today, and we brought back several swords that just need to be sharpened at the forge."

"You're going to supply your men with weapons?"

"Aye. Next time we are sent to fight our chances will have improved considerably."

"You talk as if you were going to stay for quite a while. When do you want to leave for the Lonely Mountain?"

"When you agree to come with me."

"You said you didn't want to stay at Erebor. You can come back here and then we will leave together wherever we want to go."

"I don't want to stay there. And I don't want to part from you. Come with me. It will be a short visit, I promise. Everybody would be excited to see you."

She snorted lightly.

"Maybe not everybody. Fíli will be. Don't you want to meet his family?"

"I would love to. But not there."

"You could visit Mirkwood."

"No."

"From the Lonely Mountain it's not far to the Shire. After we are done in Erebor we could go there and meet Bilbo Baggins. I haven't seen him since our wedding."

"He didn't visit? He didn't attend Fíli's wedding?"

He shook his head. "Fíli sent many letters to Hobbiton over the years and asked him. Bilbo always instantly answered with a lengthy letter and apologised very nicely for not being able to travel. Fíli knows he will never come back but he continues writing. He tells him of every little thing that happens. I think Bilbo knows every mischief the little ones have done. We owe him, you know. Without Bilbo everything would have fallen to pieces long before we even had reached the Lonely Mountain." The fond smile that had captured his features at the thought of their travel companion faded. "He was our burglar. But in the end it was Thorin who had burgled something. He stole the hobbit's heart and took it with him into the Halls of Mandos. There is no way to repay that debt, no matter how hard Fíli tries."

"They will not meet again, Bilbo and your uncle."

"No, they won't." He tightened his embrace, fully aware of what was coming now.

"Just as we won't."

"Yes."

"You will be Waiting. You will meet your uncle. Your family. But I…" Her voice was small. "I will have to live without you. Until some day I will be killed or I will eventually fade."

"I don't want you to fade. You should sail into the West when your time comes. Thranduil doesn't believe in the grace of the Valar, but you are no longer bound to his law. You can travel to the Grey Havens and ask for passage."

"But even if Cirdan grants passage to a Silvan elf from the Woodland Realm; even if I should sail, it will be for naught. If the Valar are generous they will allow me entrance to Valinor, but you will not be there to meet me. For you it will be forever unreachable. Just as the Halls of the Waiting are for me. When one of us dies, we will be separated forever. I will never see you again."

"I know. And it grieves me as much as you that I will have to leave you. But I don't want you to be sad just yet. Do not despair. You can live without me. You are strong. Maybe someday you will even find another love. Of course I will have to come back then and kill him."

"It's not funny."

"Tauriel."

She didn't look up.

"Meleth nín." He put two fingers under her chin and lifted it. "Do not weep for me while I am still here. Right now, with you. I promise I will do anything to live to a very old age. In fact, Durin the Deathless never truly died. He was reborn six times. Maybe I can do that and come back to you every time."

"There are some who believe you are his last reincarnation."

He choked. "What? Who?"

"That friend of yours. The female archer from Ered Luin, black beard. I can't remember her name. But she told me once to stay away from you, not only because you were Prince of Erebor and I was an elf and not worthy of you but because you were Durin the Deathless reborn."

"You are joking."

"No. And neither was she."

„Katla sometimes tends to an uncanny sort of hero-worship. But this is totally insane. How could anyone ever believe I was the seventh reincarnation of Durin the Deathless?"

"Because you saved your people just as the prophecy foretells?"

"When did I do that?"

"On Ravenhill."

"No."

"You turned the battle. Without you Erebor would have been lost."

"Rubbish."

"You killed Azog, Kíli."

"I don't even remember that. He could have stumbled and impaled himself for all I know."

"It doesn't matter. Your broken sword stuck in his heart, and his white warg was dead and gutted on top of you, your dagger still in your hand. Everybody believed you dead. But you lived. Just like Durin the Deathless."

"I would have died hadn't it been for you."

"It is not important how you survived, only that you did. And that you killed a terrible foe who had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. Without Azog the orc army was leaderless. Legolas had slain Bolg hours before, and they were panic-stricken. The orcs and goblins were easy prey for the three armies then. Dwarves, men and elves closed ranks and fought side by side. Victory was at hand. All because of you."

"This is insane," Kíli repeated. "No one can truly believe that."

"Katla does. And as far as I know she is not the only one."

"Durin's marbles," he said faintly.

"Indeed." Her hand cupped tenderly around the body parts in question.


	21. Chapter 20

**XX.**

He watched her dress and was once again surprised by the intensity of his feelings. He had never thought it possible to love someone like this. Before he had met Tauriel he had never spent any thought on courting or worse yet, marriage. He had been barely of age and although it wasn't uncommon to marry then, he had felt he still had all the time on Arda to choose a mate. If ever. He had never had serious intentions before. He liked to play, and since by dwarven standards Kíli had never been much of a head turner, tall and much too slender as he was, with no beard to speak of, he had had to rely on his charm and wit. Still, most of the lasses who had accepted his advances in the past had only done so because they had tried to get to Fíli. But since Kíli had never been overly fond of facial hair and the stocky yet voluptuous frames of most dwarrowdams, it didn't matter really. He had never quite understood the reserve most dwarves felt towards other races. Why in Mahal's name shouldn't he give anyone the eye who he found worth looking at, even if that someone happened to be a human lass or a she-elf? As long as he wasn't trying to hit it with an orc, who cared? His brother on the other hand took his obligations as Crown Prince very seriously and would never have got involved with a female – dwarrow or no – just for the fun of it. Something Kíli had never understood. What was wrong with a little diversion?

He hadn't had anything in mind when he made his moves on the elven captain, apart from the fact that he found her absolutely captivating. Which he thought was a remarkably clever witticism but only made her raise one very beautiful eyebrow and look down at him in a way that made his knees strangely wobbly. He had fallen in love with her while he was still behind the bars of his prison cell, and he had loved her ever since. He had hated her at times, he had tried to forget her, but he had always loved her.

He loved her for the obvious reasons, for her strength and courage, her recklessness and determination, her beauty and her kind heart. He loved her because she was an elf. And despite of it. He loved her for things that were unique to her. The little spring in her step, the small scar behind her right ear, the knots in her hair she didn't have the patience to brush out. He loved her for handing the brush to him to complete the task. He loved the way she accurately placed her daggers on the table at night and sometimes even got up again to make them sit just at the right angle. He even loved the frown she bestowed on him when he had said or done something she didn't approve of. He loved the smile he kissed on her lips, and he loved it that she was absolute incapable of cooking anything even remotely edible – a lack of talent that had made his mother sneer and him laugh so hard that tears had been running down his face. And when she had shoved the charcoal-black burnt mass into his face he had been laughing even harder, although he had been impressed. Her reaction had been worthy of a dwarrowdam. Even Dís had had to agree – grumblingly – that the usually so controlled she-elf had surprisingly applaudable qualities.

He had always wanted her to be part of his life, starting from the tales about his travels he had been sharing with her in the dungeons of Mirkwood right to his proposal. But now he was keeping something from her.

"My love?"

She turned and put on her tight green trousers.

"Yes?"

"I need to tell you something."

She slipped on her knee-high boots and fastened her weapons belt.

"Tell me tonight. I am late already. Boromir has been waiting for his archery lesson for over a bell now. I can tell him that this was part of his training, he is much too impatient; but I cannot possibly let him wait any longer."

He nodded reluctantly. "All right then. Tonight."

She smiled and opened the door. "Gi melin."

He nodded again and cursed silently as she closed the door behind her. He had been ready to tell her what had happened, what had been the real reason Fíli wanted him out of Erebor. She had to know about the poison, the orc attacks, Gandalf's suspicions. He had put this off right from the beginning. But the longer he had waited the more difficult the task had become. He sighed. He had waited for weeks now, it could wait a few hours more.

It wasn't as if he didn't know how to occupy himself. It had been four days since he had been to the abandoned armoury, and his shoulder was no longer troubling him. So he had hired the forge for today to work on the swords Faramir and he had brought back from the cave.

The men he had ordered to assist him were already waiting at the smithy, although they didn't look too enthusiastic.

"Anyone who has experience in a forge?"

Some men shrugged indifferently, others just stared blankly.

"I do. And I tell you these swords are scrap metal. There is no way of mending them. This is just a waste of time." Helge gave him a challenging look.

"It is my time as well as yours. You will be surprised what a difference a fine tended sword will make." He eyed the trouble-maker. "You have experience? You can stoke the forge."

Helge grumbled under his breath but followed him to the fire and did as ordered.

Kíli was no blacksmith as Thorin had been. He didn't have the natural ability of his brother either, who could feel which way heated metal wanted to be bent. But he had worked with his uncle at the forge back at Ered Luin whenever Thorin needed a helping hand. His abilities would be enough to mend those weapons that he thought could be repaired, and maybe he could even teach the soldiers how to heat the steel and use a hammer.

Setting the men to their tasks, he stripped off his outer leathers, tunic and some layers of lighter clothing until he wore nothing more than a thin shirt and his leather trousers. He rolled up his sleeves and secured his hair in a bun at the back of his neck, put on the smith's protective apron and started working on a cracked blade. He knew the men were watching him, rather than working on their appointed tasks, but he decided to let them for a while. Dwarves had quite a reputation as weapon-smiths; most likely they were just curious. He knew the feeling. He thought of the many times he had lingered outside the farm houses and market stalls of men as a dwarfling. Later he had lingered outside kitchens and taverns to get a glimpse of the human lasses who were surprisingly willing to meet him in lone backyards, offering him sweet cakes and even sweeter kisses.

Once he found the satisfying rhythm of striking the hammer, the regular clanks of the heavy iron head on the red-hot steel like music in his ears, he worked silently and steadily. He examined the blade, put it back into the fire to heat up once more and wiped his sweaty brow. A jug of water was offered to him, and he drank thirstily.

"Where did you learn to work in a forge?"

"My uncle was a blacksmith."

"I thought your uncle was the famous Thorin Oakenshield. The legendary dwarven king."

"He was. After the dragon took over Erebor he had to make a new life for his people and eventually settled in the Blue Mountains. He worked as a blacksmith in Ered Luin to support his brethren. Best weapon smith the settlement ever had."

"A king working in a forge," Helge spat.

"A king supporting his kin. He never shied away from hard labour. How can a king expect his subjects to trust and follow him if he doesn't know what it feels like to be one of them?"

"A king should lead."

Kíli picked up the heated sword and started working on the other side of the blade.

"Quite right. A king should lead. Not for the sake of his title or his house but for the good of his people. Everything a king does, he does for his people."

"So your famous uncle let himself be slaughtered like cattle for the well-being of his people?"

The clanking of iron on steel stopped.

Kíli stared at the red-hot blade on the anvil. It was very silent all of a sudden but in his ears the cacophony of battle grew louder and louder. Death cries, grunts, the sickening sounds of maces crushing bones and blades ripping up flesh. He saw his uncle fall, his chest a mess of blood, torn flesh and broken ribs. Thorin never even cried out. It had been Kíli who had screamed and screamed.

He lowered the hammer, fully aware of his hand shaking.

"That was what he did," he said quietly. "The king died, and the others lived."

"The dwarves of Erebor."

"Men and elves too. We fought side by side that day."

He resumed working, slowly, carefully. His hand was still shaking badly.

"You fought in the Battle of the Five Armies?"

"Aye."

"Liar. That battle was over forty years ago. You weren't even born then!"

Kíli moved so quickly that Helge didn't even have a chance to defend himself. He pinned the much taller man against the wall, his fingers closed tightly around his throat. He brought his face close to Helge's white face.

"I am 118 years old, and I faced the most terrible army of orcs and trolls when I was just a lad. I have seen things you never want to know if you cherish a good night's sleep." He loosened his grip but shoved the man back against the wall one more time. "Never again doubt me, boy."

Without another glance he turned back to the anvil and quietly resumed working on the still hot and smooth steel. From the corner of his eyes he saw the men suddenly busy themselves with their respective tasks.

For hours he worked, steadily and silently, the pile of fine mended blades grew until his shoulder hurt so much that he had to finally put the hammer down. The men had got rid of their shirts and mopped their sweaty faces. They looked exhausted.

"I think we're done for the day." Kíli looked at the swords they had been working on. "Well done. In a day or two they will have cooled down enough to be sharpened."

He put away his tools and killed the fire. When he left the forge he saw the men washing at the trough and plunging their heads in the cold water to cool down. He knew that standing in the heat of the forge for hours and working with hot metal was much harder for men than it was for him. The body temperature of dwarves ran much lower. But even he felt uncomfortable hot now, his shirt was stained with sweat and dirt. He pulled it over his head and joined the men to dip his head in the trough and shake the water out of his hair. When he splashed cold water on his bare chest to wash away the sweat he noticed the men stare at him again. This was starting to get annoying. Yes, he was a dwarf and they had probably never seen one before but he knew he didn't look so very different from men. There was not much resemblance to the slender and willowy elves, yes, but male dwarves and men shared much the same physique.

Only then he realised it wasn't his body as such they were staring at. He had forgotten the deep and angry scars on his shoulder and arm, on his chest and side. Usually he avoided letting them show. They were reminders of his failure and nothing to be proud of. Quickly he put on a shirt and raked his fingers through his long, wet hair.

"Take the weapons to the barracks," he instructed. "Meet me in the hall, tell the others to join. You earned yourself some drinks today."

Many heads turned when the soldiers of the tenth division and their dwarven commander entered the great hall and took their places at the long wooden tables. Kíli waved a servant over and ordered several barrels of beer. The man shifted uncomfortably.

"Who is going to pay?"

"Pay?"

"Barrels of beer don't come free." The man looked at him as if he doubted the dwarf's sanity.

"These are soldiers of Gondor."

"Exactly. Do they even have enough money to pay what you have ordered?"

"The Steward lets his own soldiers pay for their drinks?"

"They drink in their own time."

Kíli huffed. "Bring the barrels. Don't stop delivering until I tell you to." He shot the reluctant man a dark look. "I will pay."

The beer wasn't anything like Ereborian ale but it wasn't bad. Especially after the exhausting work in the forge. Kíli downed his first tankard in one long gulp.

Helge approached him, a full tankard in his hand and lifted it in salute.

"Thank you for this. We appreciate that."

"I appreciated your help today."

The man grumbled something, finished his beer and stroked the foam from his beard.

"Are you really a prince?"

"Didn't I tell you not to doubt me?"

"You did. I apologise. It is just… I cannot imagine a highborn at bodily labour, least of all together with ordinary soldiers, as if he were one of us!"

"Why not?"

"Well, obviously. They are better than us."

"Better?"

Helge shrugged. "That's how it is in the world of men."

"I think I prefer dwarven ways."

"I might," Helge mumbled and took a deep gulp.

—

It was strange, Kíli thought while he was fumbling for the door-knob, how much difference a little ale made. They had finished several barrels together, they had exchanged stories of famous battles and had told jokes they found increasingly funnier as the beer was flowing. He was still humming one of the songs the men and he had sung together, something about a soldier and his lass. Very similar to dwarven drinking songs, minus the braiding of beards.

The door opened unexpectedly, and he stumbled inside and reached for a small table to steady himself. It fell over with a surprising amount of noise.

"Whoa."

"Kíli?"

"My love." He smiled and made his way to the for-poster bed Tauriel was sitting in. Unbuckling his boots on the way proved to be difficult though, and he hopped the last bit on one leg until he reached the bedside and tumbled down rather ungracefully.

"You have been drinking."

"Enough to drown in." He managed to get rid of one of his boots. "The idiot Ryuak thought he could beat me in a drinking game and passed out right on the table. I wonder if he will ever wake up again. He was so pissed they had to drag him out of the hall by his feet."

"You are drunk."

"Only a little." He smiled and tried to kiss her.

Tauriel wrinkled her nose. "And you are smelly."

"Worked at the forge today. We managed to repair the swords I brought from the neglected armoury. It was a good day."

"It would be better if you had been bathing."

He flashed her a smile. "Admit it. You like me when I am all dirty and sweaty."

He tried to crawl up to her on all fours and kiss her but the open buckles of his leftover boot got caught in the sheets. While he was freeing his foot he lost his balance and collapsed head-first on the pillow. How soft and inviting the cushion was. He yawned. And closed his eyes for only a second.

When he opened them again someone was using his head as an anvil and hammered mercilessly against his temples.

He groaned.

"It is nearly morning." Tauriel sat down next to him and offered him a jug of water which he drank greedily. His tongue seemed to be nailed to the roof of his mouth.

"Hangover," he mumbled.

"I am not surprised."

Why was he awake? Oh, yes. He had duties. He just couldn't remember which.

"You scheduled training," Tauriel said as if she could read his thoughts. "Do you feel you can get up?"

"Sure." He swung his legs out of bed and sat up. "Not so sure. Everything is spinning."

"Did you really win that drinking game of yours?"

"Don't mention drinking, please. But yes, I did. And not only one. I won all of them. You have every reason to be proud of me."

"I am. But not because you can drink a lot of ale."

"Don't say that word. It makes me sick."

"Which word? Ale? Or drink?"

He made a face. "Evil elf. I am beginning to understand why our peoples have a feud."

"Maybe because a smelly dwarf crawled into an elf's bed and didn't even bother to remove his dirty boots."

"You lot are always so picky. I got rid of one, didn't I?"

With great effort he stood and sniffed at his clothes. His stomach jolted. A bath seemed to be a very good idea.

The sun had just risen when he arrived at the training ground. He still felt slightly sick and his head was throbbing. Stupid idea to set up sparring after such a night. Did he really expect anyone to show up?

He was surprised when his men arrived soon after.

"Maybe dwarves don't need any sleep at all", he heard someone mutter. "I haven't seen him at our quarters for days now. Have you?"

"Idiot. Found himself a lass, he has. For sure."

Just as Kíli was wondering whether he should put an end to the gossip that he couldn't help but overhear, Helge stepped up to the two men.

"Stop that!" The man glowered at them. "He is a prince and our commander. Show some respect!"

"Apologies. Didn't mean any disrespect. Far from it."

Kíli blinked. What had that been? Looking around he saw the men all standing as tall and ready as they could in their respective conditions. Even Ruyak seemed to be alert and to wait for his orders although his face was an alarming shade of green.

Well, Kíli thought. He had no idea where that unexpected change of behaviour came from but he was far from complaining.


	22. Chapter 21

**I made one small addition to this one, thanks to enchantedstarlight.**

* * *

 **XXI.**

Dinner at the great hall still was something of a challenge for Kíli. True, the soldiers of his division no longer left the table to sit down elsewhere when he joined them, but smiled, and nodded, and even respectfully bowed their heads to greet him. But there was always Denethor who sat much too close to Tauriel, and talked to her, and sometimes even patted her arm or tried to put his hand on hers. And tonight there was not only dinner, there was a feast. Drinking. Which wasn't so bad. But dancing as well. And despite the loud and merry music, Kíli could hear his teeth grind. Denethor was dancing with Tauriel. For the second time. When the man held out his hand to lead her to the dancing floor a third time, Kíli pushed back his stool with force and elbowed through the crowd. He intercepted the pair and took the she-elf's hand before the Steward had a chance.

"Dance with me."

"I don't think the Lady Tauriel cares to dance with…" Denethor looked down on him with a contemptuous smile, "… a dwarf."

"I didn't ask you. I asked her. Would you like to dance with me?"

"With pleasure." She smiled and let him lead her to the dancing floor in the middle of the hall. "Do you know that dance?"

"No."

"Then… How are we going to dance?"

"You put your hands on my shoulders and let me take the lead. For once." He grinned and placed his hand on her waist.

"You will step on my toes."

"No, I won't. You are an elf, you can move your feet quickly enough so that I won't do them any harm. Come on, let's dance."

"I don't know how. Maybe if we watch the others we can copy their steps."

"I don't care about how the others dance. We will just move to the music the way we like. It's simple, really. Just put your hands on my shoulders and enjoy yourself."

"But everybody will stare at us then."

He laughed. "Everybody is already staring at us."

He tightened his grip around her waist and steered her into a made-up dance. Her fingers dug into his shoulders quite painfully but she followed. The fiddle sped up the rhythm and Kíli whirled Tauriel around who had obviously not seen that coming; she stumbled slightly, stepped on his foot (Kíli lifted an eyebrow) and caught herself again. When the music stopped her face was slightly flushed.

"That… That was…" She fell silent.

He grinned. "That was quite a dance, huh?"

She laughed, and some faces turned at the so very unexpected yet lovely sound. "That was fun! I had forgotten how that felt like. Thank you."

"Any time."

He escorted her back to her seat next to a scowling Denethor, put his hand over his heart and bowed deeply.

"At your service, Lady elf."

The smile she gifted him with was utterly sweet. "At yours."

He winked and went back to the soldiers' table where a half empty tankard of ale waited to be downed.

Denethor cast him a dark look. The man obviously wasn't as stupid as he looked. Kíli grinned and signalled a servant to get him a refill.

Helge let himself drop down on the stool next to him.

"The swords are good," he said slightly slurred. „We used them in training today. It was very generous of you to support us with weapons. To mend them. Thank you for that."

Kíli nodded. His eyes were still set on the red-haired elleth at the Royal Table. She was looking back at him, and her lips curled into a smile. Then she stood and said something to the Steward who gave a curt bow.

"And… Thank you for what you did at Osgiliath."

Kíli absentmindedly nodded again. His eyes followed Tauriel who walked towards the great doors and left.

"You saved many lives. My life. We are… I… am in your debt."

"No, you're not. It's my duty to look out for my men. Besides, too many lives were lost that night."

Helge looked at him, clearly not understanding. "We are soldiers. And not the best. The men who died…" He shrugged. "It's our destiny to give our lives for Gondor."

"Destiny?" Kíli turned to look at Helge, now very much focussed. "I prefer to forge my own destiny."

Speaking of which. He stood and put a hand on Helge's shoulder.

"See you at training tomorrow."

He crossed the hall and went out the same door Tauriel had left. He found her standing at the parapet and looking at the night sky.

"In all those years without you I have often wondered if you were looking at the stars the same moment as I," he said as he was stepping up to her.

"I have often wondered the same thing," she answered. "We were parted and yet united. It is strange how I always find comfort in looking at the sky at night and see the light of forever fill the air."

"Stone is forever. It remains strong and steady, it withers the years. That is what I find comforting. Stars can be hidden by clouds, but stone will always be true." He smiled. "Dwarven thing. We were made out of stone. Guess it explains why we are so thickheaded."

"Elves were born under the stars. That's what we love best. The light of the stars that fills our being, and will forever guide us, and watch over us." She looked at him. "We are so very different, the creation of Aule and the children of Ilúvatar. We don't have anything in common, you and I. That was what I told myself all those years. That we were never meant to be."

"Did it help?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. Because there is a flaw in your chain of thought."

"Oh?"

His fingers intertwined with hers. "We wouldn't be able to bathe in the light of the stars if we weren't standing on solid rock. It supports us. So the two of us, right here and now, bring both worlds together. What would the stars be without someone being able to look at them? And rock without being illuminated by their light? They would be lonely without each other, without meaning."

She tilted her head and a smile played along her lips. "We complete each other."

"Aye."

He tightened the grip of his fingers and felt her squeeze back as they stood and looked at the stars.

"You have changed," she suddenly said. "You still do what you feel is right, no matter what. But you are taking care of others. You see their needs and worries. You are a good leader. And you have become wise."

Kíli laughed. "Tell that to my brother. Or Balin. The Council. Old moss-beard Dwoss would surely throw a tantrum!"

"It is the second time you mention this name. Who is this Dwoss?"

"Some Lord who came to Erebor a couple of years ago. He had a lot of precious gems in his purse and many stories to tell of Durin's line, right down to the beginning of time when the first Durin came into being at Mount Gundabad. Balin was delighted. Even Fíli and Dwalin greeted him with open arms."

"But not you. I hear distaste in your voice."

"He is… I don't know. There is something about him that I don't like. I can't put a finger on it, but something is wrong. And he is too much of a traditionalist for my liking. You know, all about dwarven pride and purity, about how other races are of lesser worth. I can't stand that kind of rubbish."

"You never could."

He shrugged. "It is stupid. Are we not all part of this world?"

She smiled. "Yes, melamin, we are."

The stars were nothing compared to the light in her eyes, he thought as he drew closer to her; the cherry-sweet softness of her lips making his own prickle.

"The night is much too chilly to spend it outside in the open," a voice said, and they hastily stepped away from each other.

"Elves are not feeling the cold like humans do," Tauriel answered with a slight tilt of her head. "I feel quite comfortable."

Kíli tried to suppress his grin but failed miserably. Denethor glowered at him before putting his hand at the small of the elleth's back.

"Still. Let me escort you to your quarters, my Lady. One never knows who might try to take advantage of a lone female."

The muscle in her jaw twitched. Kíli wasn't sure whether she was going to demonstrate her ability of defending herself against unwanted attention or just laugh into the man's face.

Denethor turned back to the dwarf.

"You keep away from the Lady."

"Why should I?" He lifted his chin and took one step toward the Steward. Denethor's eyes narrowed.

Tauriel smiled at the man, breaking the tension between the males. "You are right. It is getting cold." Then she turned towards Kíli. "Would you mind escorting me to my quarters?"

"Not at all."

With a grin that nearly split his face he put his hand around her waist and walked with her past the Steward and towards the Royal Wing.

—-

Someone knocked at the door.

"Don't answer it." Kíli murmured and kissed Tauriel again.

It knocked again. Louder this time.

Tauriel straightened. Kíli sighed and let go. She went to the door and opened.

Faramir and Boromir were standing at the door, faces flushed, and out of breath. The older boy looked clearly uncomfortable while the younger was checking the corridor and quickly looked back at the she-elf.

"Is Kíli with you?"

"I am." Kíli stepped next to the elleth. "What do you want? How did you know where to look for me?"

Boromir blushed when his eyes fell on his tutor's flowing dress and Kíli's open shirt that left his chest bare.

"You weren't at the soldier's quarters, so I asked him to find you." Faramir gestured at the dog who waggled his tail excitedly and put his front legs up Kili's leg to lick his hand.

"What is it you want from me?"

"To warn you. You must leave at once."

"Why?"

"Father. He... The mercenaries... You must flee."

"I don't understand."

"They told him of the price on your head. He..." Faramir cast down his eyes. "He has set them free. And he has sold you. They are on their way to get you."

Tauriel stiffened. "What price?"

"Damn." Kíli grabbed his boots.

"Apparently those mercenaries have a piece of leather with writing in Black Speech on it. A warrant. Orcs from the Grey Mountains are searching for Kíli. They are willing to pay quite a lot to get him. And father has... he has agreed." Angrily Faramir wiped tears from his eyes.

Tauriel was still staring at the boy, while Kíli was already putting on his tunic and leather jerkin. Boromir bit his lip.

„You must understand our father, Lady. He has a responsibility towards Gondor, towards this city, its people. It is so hard to stand against the foe – every day of every month of every year. It is hard not to lose hope. They have not only payed him in coins. They promised to make the orcs leave us be if he handed over the dwarf. He had no choice."

She started to dress, quickly, effectively, and vey calm. "There is always a choice. Your father is a traitor. And a coward."

Boromir paled. "Our father is an honourable man."

"There is no honour in his deeds."

"No," he choked. "But he... He used to be different. When our mother was still alive. People came to Minas Tirith to seek his council, he was just and wise. He changed when she died. You remind us of her. You can help him become that man again. If we help the dwarf escape, will you stay?"

"No, I won't."

"I told you," Faramir hissed.

"You cannot possibly chose a dwarf over our father. Yes, he is a good soldier and a prince. But our father is Steward of Gondor! He is as good as a king."

Tauriel sheathed her daggers and looked patiently at Boromir. "I do not care for titles but for the kindness of a heart. Kings are crowned and die, realms prosper and vanish. I have seen this happen many times in the mere seven hundred years of my young life. But someone who will listen to his heart, who will always place honesty, and justice, and love above all else I have met only once. And I chose him for my husband long before you were born."

Boromir gulped and looked from her to Kíli and back. Slowly his jaw dropped as the words – and their meaning – settled. A deep flush crept into his face, and he cast down his eyes. Faramir on the other hand was grinning widely.

He handed over Kíli's bow and quiver. "We got these from the soldiers' quarters. I am sorry, your sword is still there, it was too heavy to carry."

Kíli set his jaw. He hated to leave the sword behind he had detected in Erebor's Royal Quarters and which had belonged to his uncle Frerin once, the very uncle whose armour Thorin had given him and that had protected him in battle.

"Please, hurry!" Faramir was frantically scanning the corridor again.

"They are only five men. There is no need to be afraid. We will defeat them easily," Tauriel said.

Boromir shook his head. "You do not understand. Our father made a bargain. Our soldiers will search for the dwarf and hand him over. You cannot fight Gondor's army."

Tauriel opened her mouth as if to contradict the youth, but Kíli took her hand.

"Take what you need and lets go." He looked at Faramir. "Where to?"

The boy let a ring of keys dangle.

"The tunnels. Not far from here there is an entrance to a tunnel that leads out of the city. No one will suspect you escaped that way, they will search for you in the barracks, the stables and the city's rings. That should give you enough time to get away. But we must go – now!"

He turned towards the dimly lit corridor and Kíli followed. Boromir and Tauriel who had picked up her bow and a knapsack with her belongings were close behind. In front of a marble column Faramir stopped. Embedded in the stone wall was a door that looked exactly like the surrounding paintings. Only someone who knew it was there would have detected it in the shadow of the column. The boy took the ring of keys and unlocked the hidden door.

"If you follow the tunnel you will emerge close to a forest and have a good chance to escape. Please accept our apologies for…" He made a helpless gesture. "… this. And good luck."

Kíli closed his hand around the boy's small forearm in a warrior's grip.

"Thank you, Faramir of Gondor. I am in your debt."

The boy swallowed, obviously fighting emotions welling up, but then he set his shoulders and nodded curtly. "There is no such thing between sword-brothers. I look forward to see you again."

"So do I."

When Faramir offered him the dagger he had borrowed, Kíli shook his head.

"Keep it. A dagger forged by a King and given by a friend – that is befitting for Gondor's future Captain."

The boy nodded his thanks with moist eyes. Boromir put a reassuring hand on his little brother's shoulder and looked at Kíli and Tauriel.

"Be safe. And please do not think ill of Gondor."

"Gondor's future is in good hands." Tauriel smiled and entered the tunnel.


	23. Chapter 22

**XXII.**

Almost instantly they were swallowed by darkness. Kíli could detect Tauriel's slender frame moving swiftly ahead. He followed closely, his steps echoed hollow in the narrow and winding tunnel. Lucky pitter-pattered in Kíli's wake, his nose anxiously pressed against the dwarf's leg. The air was thick and stale; from time to time cobwebs got into Kíli's face. Memories of giant spiders preying on him flooded his mind, and he fought not to panic while he hastily tried to free himself from the sticky mass without losing his pace. Tauriel never once looked back or faltered in her steps, and although she had to duck several times she never slowed down. And then, suddenly, he smelled a whiff of fresh air. They must be close to the tunnel's exit.

Tauriel reached out to put aside roots that were hiding a weathered door. The planks creaked and gave way when she kicked at the rotten wood. She squeezed through, and Kíli and Lucky followed. Faramir had said the tunnel led to a forest but this was a thicket, dense and nearly impenetrable. Thorns caught Kíli's clothes and hair, scratched his skin and didn't let go until he tore at them and heard his tunic rip. When he eventually managed to free himself and escaped the bushes, he found himself surrounded by mighty tree trunks. Tauriel – hair and clothes in perfect order – was removing a thorn from Lucky's paw and didn't look up.

"Where are we, what do you reckon?" He peered into the sky for orientation but found that although the first leaves of autumn had started to fall, the forest canopy was still too thick to catch even a glimpse of the stars. But the direction didn't really matter now. They had to leave quickly and get as far away from Minas Tirith as possible. At dawn they would be able to tell which way they should go. Lothlórien first, he gathered, and then back to Erebor.

"Is everything all right?" He asked when Tauriel patted Lucky's head but still didn't look up.

"No. Nothing is right."

"Something wrong with the dog? Or do you sense something?" He listened for suspicious sounds, even sniffed the air if he could detect the unmistakable stench of orc. Nothing. "What is it?"

"You didn't tell me about the price on your head."

Oh, damn. This was a lot quicker than he had anticipated.

"It's not important. It's not the first and it won't be the last. For some reason orcs from the Grey Mountains have an interest in getting a hold of me. Alive, for a change."

"And you didn't think this was important."

He shrugged. "The Grey Mountains are far away."

"Mordor's borders are close. Didn't it occur to you that you could be in danger here, right under the Dark Lord's hands?"

"Actually, it didn't. My mistake." He held out his hand. "Come on, let's go. The tunnel gave us a good head start, but they will be at our heels soon and I don't want to fight Gondor's soldiers. They are good men, I would hate to kill or even injure any of them."

Tauriel didn't move. She didn't take his hand, either.

"What?"

"What else haven't you told me?"

"I don't think this is the right place nor time. Let's go and get into safety first."

"I won't go anywhere with you until you tell me."

"Please, be reasonable."

"That is advice you should follow yourself. I don't have anything to fear from Gondor's Steward."

He sighed impatiently. "All right, then. Orcs from the Grey Mountains developed an interest in Erebor recently. Just before I left they attacked the Lonely Mountain but we were able to fight them off. Fíli was wounded though. By a dwarven arrow; and apparently he was shot deliberately."

"Someone tried to kill him? Your own people?"

"It would seem so."

"And you didn't catch the assassin? Were you not hunting them?"

He felt the blood drain from his face. Idiot. He should have known she would ask that. „I… Ah. I couldn't. I… wasn't… around… when it happened."

He could see her gaze focus on him.

"Where were you?"

"In the…" He cleared his throat. "Infirmary."

"Why?"

"I was sick."

"Normally that would not keep you from fighting. Especially when Fíli and Erebor were in danger. What were you suffering from?"

"Morgul poison", he said in the lowest voice he could manage.

She sucked in her breath. "You were wounded again?"

He shook his head. "Someone tempered with my drinks."

"You were poisoned?"

"Yes. It wasn't…" That bad, he wanted to say. But it had been. So he didn't say anything.

"By whom?"

He shrugged. "Someone. Doesn't matter. She's dead. She didn't act on her own account anyway. We don't know who was really behind it." He felt Tauriel's gaze pierce him and continued hastily. "She came from a dwarven colony in the Grey Mountains that is controlled by orcs. But Gandalf thinks the scheme was too elaborate for orcs. He believes the old wound is some kind of a Dark Mark, a connection to Darkness when coming in touch with Morgul poison."

He spilled out the last words and waited anxiously. She would be furious and he knew how frightening she could be then. She had shouted at him once or twice in their marriage but it had been nothing compared to the icy remarks and cold gaze she had punished him with when she was really angry. Ah, well. Mahal knew he deserved it. She usually couldn't be angry with him for long, anyway.

But Tauriel didn't say anything. She took her bow and started to move into the forest. Kíli had to hurry to catch up with her.

"Tauriel."

She didn't answer.

"Love?"

Her shoulders straightened but she didn't turn.

"You have every right to be angry. I should have told you sooner."

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

"You should tell me everything. Do you really think I don't know that you are still holding something back?"

"Because we are on the run, because we can be caught anytime, and because this is not the bloody time for long explanations!"

"You had more than enough time for your explanations. You came to Minas Tirith three moons ago!"

"And what do you suggest I should have done? Come to you after more than twenty years and tell you about orc attacks, and Morgul poison, and that I am probably bound to Darkness? That really would have made me irresistible."

"It would have been the truth."

"I was afraid to ruin everything. To scare you off."

"I am not easily scared. You should have tried me."

"I know. But I didn't want any of this to interfere. I wanted us to be happy."

"How can I be happy when you are not telling the truth?"

"I am."

"Then tell me about her."

Damn.

He took a deep breath.

"Her name was Eyra. She was a librarian and teacher of Fíli's twins. I thought she was nice and liked me when in truth she had been sent down from the Grey Mountains to poison me. Gandalf exposed her, and she was murdered. We haven't got a clue by whom."

"Did you care about her?"

"I thought so."

"Did you kiss her?"

Damn again.

"Yes."

"Did you...?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

Three times damn.

"Yes."

"You told me you never stopped loving me."

"I didn't."

"You told me you were thinking of me all the time."

"I was."

"But you fell in love with someone else."

"It wasn't love."

"What was it then?"

"I was lonely, and she cared about me – or so I thought. I liked her. And I didn't want to be alone anymore."

"You chose to be. I wanted you to come with me. I begged. I had never humiliated myself like that before and I will never do so again. You have no idea how I felt when you refused. I begged you not to leave me but you did."

"You left me."

It took all his will-power not to step back when she made a move not unlike an attacking snake.

"I didn't," she spat. "I wanted nothing else than to be with you. But to you a mountain was more important. I should have known what to expect from a dwarf."

He ground his teeth. "You know it wasn't the mountain."

She set her jaw but he could see her lip tremble.

"Amrâlimé."

"Don't!" She hissed, and this time he took an involuntary step back. "Don't call me that!"

With a quick move she unsheathed one of her curved daggers and cut something from his hair. Kíli drew in a sharp breath when he felt the cold steel of her blade against his neck, and his blood turned cold when he saw the matted braid in her hand.

"You are severing the bond." He was surprised he could mouth the words. His lips felt numb. His whole body felt numb. Dead. If it hadn't it been for his heart fighting with all its might against being broken, he would have thought he was dead.

"I gave you that braid, and now I am taking it back. Maybe you forgot, but according to elven custom it had to be rebraided once a year to renew the bond. Which means there is nothing that binds us to each other, there hasn't been for many years."

"Oh, damn," he cried in mock-desperation, anger bubbled like acid inside of him. "I forgot to renew the bond! No, wait. I didn't forget that. I wished for it very much. But there was no elf to braid her promise into my hair. Because the elf had done what her people usually do when it gets complicated. She broke her promise to me and turned her back on me."

She pressed her lips together but said nothing. Kíli stepped closer to her, his nostrils flared with anger.

"There is a bond, like it or no. We are married according to dwarven law," he growled.

Her eyes narrowed. "I am no dwarrow. Your laws do not apply to me."

The anger was white-hot now and burning, consuming every fibre of his being and turning every bit of common sense Kíli might have had into ashes.

"What are you saying? That you are running away again? That you are leaving me again? Just because things are not how you want them to be? Because I didn't act like you expect me to? You may be an elf and Illúvatar's dearest creation and superior in every way, but I am a son of Durin and not a puppet!"

He stared into her eyes, angry beyond anything that her face was like a beautiful carved mask and didn't give any of her feelings away. She looked perfectly calm, a little distracted even. His own eyes were burning with tears of hurt and rage and the fear of losing her. They fought their way into his lashes and escaped, hot and treacherous, over his cheeks. That display of weakness and emotion angered him even more when she was the very image of coolness. Cold, distant. Indifferent. She looked exactly like those elves Thorin and his mother had always warned them against.

"I always thought you were different," he finally managed to say. "I thought you showed some understanding to all those who make mistakes and try so hard to keep on their paths. But I see now that I was wrong. You are an elf, just like all the others. You are flawless and have no sympathy for the struggles of us mere mortals."

Tauriel whirled her daggers, and Kíli flinched. Belatedly he realised that Lucky was barking frantically and growling. His head snapped round. Someone was moving in the forest, he could glimpse the pale shimmer of skin, the glitter of drawn steel. He nocked an arrow and turned, so that he was now standing back to back with the elf. No words were necessary. They moved as one now, dispute put aside, differences in height or built irrelevant, two bodies in a single dance; alert, with deadly precision, and perfectly well-matched. When he took a step to the side, she followed; when she took a step forward, he took one back; never did they leave each other's backs unprotected. When her eyes set on a target, her shoulders stiffened, her daggers trembled with the urge to be thrown, he lifted the bow to give her coverage. When he aimed at a figure moving in the dark, she readied her weapons to follow suit.

A heavily armed man rushed out from behind the trees, and Kíli's arrow embedded itself in the attacker's flesh just as Tauriel's dagger severed the hand holding the blade from the arm. The man cried in pain and shock and covered his arm, but others broke out from the scrubs and closed in on them. Tauriel had taken up her bow, and they managed to keep their attackers at bay, constantly moving and aiming at the men to keep themselves safely out of shooting range.

"Drop your weapons!" One of the men shouted. Kíli recognised him as one of the mercenaries, the one with the sword who seemed to be the group's leader. "We won't harm you!"

The one with the eye-patch led out a cackling laughter. "Coz they will. Do it better than us, they do."

Kíli clenched his teeth. The scar at his thigh was hurting with the familiar pain all of a sudden that told him who the mercenaries were expecting.

"Orcs," he murmured.

Tauriel's back pressed closer against his shoulders.

They circled and aimed, but the men had taken cover behind the trees. To shoot at them would be a waste of arrows. To try and break through was too dangerous. So they remained and waited, but the prospect of orcs joining their enemies made Kíli sweat. He had no idea what to do.

Branches were cracking, and the pounding of many heavy feet trampling on leaves and twigs filled the air. He could smell rotten flesh and a strange metallic odour like dried blood, and then the orcs surrounded them. He could hear Tauriel draw in her breath. They must be fifty, maybe even sixty of the creatures; and from what he could see they were heavily armed. One big and bald orc wearing a warg's fur trimmed with canine teeth over its bare shoulders stepped forward.

"Ashdautas Vrasubatlat," it greeted the mercenaries' leader.

"Nar Udautas,"* the mam answered in Black Speech and bowed.

The orc made a gesture towards Kíli. "You found him."

The man grinned. "The dwarf was shouting so loud we would have found him fifty miles from where we were. They are really not very clever. I don't understand what you want with him. Her, that is another matter." He gave Tauriel a lusty look. "And she is a good fighter."

"Lul Gijak-Ishi,"** the orc answered scornfully. It approached Kíli and exposed sharp, yellow teeth. "Durin-scum. You reek with fear. I can smell it."

"Yeah?"

The orc screeched when Kíli's arrow pierced its heart. Its knees buckled and it dropped to the forest's floor. The dying orc was still thrashing when the second in command stepped forward. Its yellow eyes looked at Kíli.

"Twelve," it said in Westron. "Twenty the elf."

"What?"

"Arrows. You cannot kill all of us." It smiled. "When you run out of arrows, you will pay. You will beg. But we will not stop hurting you. Hurting her."

Kíli's fingers that drew back the bowstring started to tremble slightly. There was only one way out of it. He felt the reassuring warmth of Tauriel's back pressed against his own, and his voice was steady when he answered.

"One arrow each will be enough."

"No!" The orc pointed its bony finger at him. "You must live. The Lord wants you. Alive."

The tip of an arrow suddenly protruded from its chest, and the orc's eyes bulged before it spilled black blood and fell. The mercenary tried to run but was caught by an arrow and toppled over. Cries and the whooshing of arrows filled the air, orcs and men were fighting each other in their urge to take cover behind the trees. Hooves thundered in the black of the night, and Tauriel lifted her bow to defend them against the attacking riders, when a horn resounded in the woods.

Kíli put a hand on her arm, a sudden grin on his face.

"I know that horn!"

Horses broke through the covert, the silver tree of Gondor shining on the riders' armour, swords and arrows were mowing down the black breed as it tried to flee. One big horse was brought to a halt inches from Kíli's feet. He looked up into Nimir's laughing face.

A second rider joined the young man who was still holding the horn of Gondor in his hand.

"Helge!"

"Aye, my Lord." The man grinned and held out something to the dwarf. "We thought you would want your sword."

Kíli took his blade and nodded, baffled. "Thank you."

"And we thought you might want your ponies." Helge waved someone over who had Frosti and the pack pony on a lead.

Nimir beamed. „And since we also thought that the Lady elf would be with you, we brought an extra horse."

"I don't know what to say. Apart from thank you."

Helge shook his head. "You are our commander."

"I am no longer. You know that the Steward is searching for me?"

Helge's face darkened. "We know. And when his boys came to fetch your things we put two and two together. Most of the tenth left Denethor's service then. We are here to serve you. If you will have us, that is."

Kíli stared. He opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. Had he heard right? The men had left Gondor's army not only to protect him but to serve him?

"Huh?" he finally managed.

Helge dismounted and put a hand on his heart. "We owe you our lives. Our dignity if we ever had it. Will you accept?"

Kíli looked into the man's solemn face and nodded slowly.

"I would be honoured."

"Then we should ride, my Lord. The rest of Gondor's forces are out searching for you. Denethor is leading a division himself."

"What are you waiting for?"

Kíli took Frosti's reins and stroked his stallion's mane affectionally before he mounted. From the corner of his eye he saw Tauriel get on a horse. Thank Mahal, she was joining them.

They made their way out of the forest, leaving the corpses of orcs and mercenaries behind. From what Kíli could make out in the dark, some of their enemies had escaped.

It was evening when they finally halted. They had long crossed the North-South-Road and several small rivers leading to the Anduin, and the mountain range of Emyn Muil lay ahed to their right. The next day they would cross Rohan's borders, and Kíli figured it was safe now to make camp. The men were clearly exhausted, some of them had been wounded and needed to be treated. He ordered two of his men to scout, although he was relatively sure that the place at the bank of the little stream was safe. Nimir and another man were taking care of their horses, and Tauriel had volunteered to keep watch during the night.

When the men settled down around the two small fires Kíli walked around the camp, patted a shoulder here and talked there. When he passed a man with a bloody bandage on his thigh, he stopped and knelt at the wounded man's side.

"Orcish blade?"

Ruyak nodded. "Didn't see the bastard in the dark. Sliced my thigh, but I stabbed it through its guts nevertheless. Squeaked like a pig."

"How bad is it?"

"Just a flesh wound. Don't you worry, my Lord. I will be up and about to save your ass whenever the need arises."

Kíli grinned and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Good to know. Get some rest. We will ride at dawn."

He resumed his way to where the horses were grazing at the river's bank and joined Helge.

"Four men are wounded. Ruyak worst of all," Kíli said.

Helge nodded. "His wound is severe, he makes light of it."

"I thought so. I'll ask Tauriel to tend to him." Which would give him the opportunity to speak to her. She had been riding with the men, but as far as Kíli could tell, she had never once looked in his direction. She was most likely still angry, and he had to make up with her.

So he approached her carefully at her outpost at the camp's side and quietly sat down next to her.

"Ruyak's wounded. I wondered if you would have a look?"

"Of course."

She didn't look at him and remained silent. Kíli waited, but she didn't speak. So he did.

"I know you didn't leave me, back then. It was not your fault. I should have gone with you."

"I know you couldn't."

"I am sorry for what I said. All those nasty things about elves. I didn't mean them."

"I know. I am sorry, too. The words I spoke were rash."

"We forgive each other then?"

"Yes, we do."

He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. "Maybe we should promise each other this time not to be snobbish. And not to leave each other."

"This time? What do you mean?"

He smiled. "I need a new braid."

She looked at him, clearly surprised. "On what ground? You have not been honest. You kept secrets from me. Maybe that is the dwarven way, but it is not how I want to be treated. I am an elf, and we cherish honesty."

"So do my people. This is not about the differences of dwarves and elves. This is about you and me. And I wanted to tell you, you must believe me. I had just been waiting for the right moment."

She sneered.

"Yes, all right. I should have told you earlier. But I didn't want to frighten you."

"It is not you decision to make."

"Understood. I apologise. You have every right to be angry. But I didn't want to trouble you, and I didn't want to spoil what we had."

"I am not angry. I am disappointed that you would lie to me. How are we supposed to carry on?"

"You are really going to leave me because I made a mistake? A stupid mistake? All I did was not telling everything straight away. Things that happened to me, that interfered with my life. Do you not think it should be my decision when to tell them?"

"Those things were not just happening to you. There are happening to everybody who cares about you. They are happening to your brother. To your people, your kingdom. To me. How could you ever think of leaving me out of this?"

"I never wanted that. I just wanted to act in my own time."

"When would you have told me? And would you have told me all? Would you have told me about… her?"

"I… don't know."

"Honesty. Courage. Straightforwardness. That is what I have always loved in you. But I don't see any of it now. I see deceit. I see someone who is not trustworthy. Who promised to stay true to me, always, but broke his word. You are everything my king warned me about."

He felt fear creep up in him. This was no quarrel. Not even a fight. He was going to lose her.

"I was faithful to you. Just as I am honest with you. I love you. Always. Please, trust me."

"How?" She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. "Tell me. How can I trust you?"

 _How can I trust you?_ Her voice mingled with Fíli's in his ears. _Don't speak to me of trust._

* * *

* "Ashdautas Vrasubatlat": "Someday I will kill you" (A standard Orcish greeting)

"Nar Udautas": "Not today" (The standard reply)

„Lul Gijak-Ishi"**: "Flowers in the blood", an orcish insult for elves.


	24. Chapter 23

I am sorry, lovelies. The heartbreak continues. If you want to give yourself the full treat, I suggest you listen to Keaton Henson's  
"10 AM Gare du Nord". There is a beautiful Kíli/Tauriel-video on youtube to that song: "I will not tire of you" by flaweddesign.

* * *

 **XXIII.**

"She is always keeping watch. Shouldn't we take a shift as well?" Helge's gaze flashed over to the camp's side opposite Fangorn forest where the solitary form of Tauriel was sitting still and erect like a statue.

Kíli shook his head. "Let her be. Elves do not need to sleep like you or me."

"You don't sleep either. Pardon me. But I saw you sit and smoke your pipe whenever I opened my eyes."

Kíli shrugged. "I have a lot to think about."

Helge's glance flickered back to the she-elf again. "Yes, my Lord."

Clearly he knew what – or rather who – his commander was thinking about when he sat brooding by the fire at night. But the man kept silent as he accompanied Kíli on his evening round through the camp.

They had been travelling for almost a week now and developed an easy routine. Nimir, who was always fidgeting, scouted and occasionally hunted; Aravir and Madoc kept an eye on the horses; Haleth who had turned out to be a decent cook, tended to the meals. Ohtar, who had some knowledge of healing, had cauterized the injuries some of the men had suffered from orcish blades. Those wounded were slowly recovering. Only Ruyak was getting worse. The deep and vicious slash was infected and didn't heal. They would have to stop at Lothlórien to get him treated properly, something Kíli secretly dreaded. It was likely that Gandalf was still there, and the wizard surely would have to say a thing or two about sneaking away in the night. Worse than that, Kíli feared Tauriel would stay with the elves.

She and he had talked little during their journey, and it had always been about duties, about scouting, about where to make camp for the night, and which route they should take. They had never talked about their relationship, about what was to become of them, about the anger, and the hurt, and the desperation. He had tried again and again, had wanted to apologise, to explain, to throw himself at her feet, but she had always cut him off.

Kíli knew she needed time, but he was slowly but surely losing his mind. He was constantly wondering what to do, what to say to convince her without pressuring her. What if he was pursuing her too much? Would she feel cornered? What if he wasn't? Would she take it as a sign that he had given up? What if she would leave him for real this time? He was so on edge he found it hard to focus on anything else. Helge covered up for him as much as he could, but Kíli could sense the growing uneasiness in his men. From what he had picked up on his evening rounds through camp and while riding with his soldiers, some were no longer sure leaving Gondor had been a good idea. In truth, he wasn't either. He had no idea how to support a whole division. He needed to speak to them and give them the opportunity to try their luck elsewhere. Since they had entered Rohan a few days ago, a troop of Rohirrim had joined their company. Maybe his men could stay with the horse people.

Helge nodded over to where the riders were sitting, their helmets decorated with horse hair next to them, their red armour catching the setting sun, their hands still holding the reins of their horses halters despite the dice they were handling.

"Do they ever let go of their horses?" Helge mumbled. "They are eating and drinking and sleeping with their beasts. Are they pleasing their women with a horse next to the bed?"

Kíli grinned. He had wondered the same thing ever since Ailric and his men had shared their camp.

"Be grateful that they offer us protection."

"I am. But they owe you. The dwarves, I mean. Ailric said Rohan was in your debt because of the aid Erebor and especially that dwarf warrior provided against the Haradrim. What was his name again?"

"Warthroes," Kíli grumbled. "She is King Theoden's sword-sister."

"She?" Helge looked baffled. "Ailric was praising his… her… mighty beard when he greeted you!"

"Yes. Never mind." Kíli subconsciously scratched his stubble. He was glad the Rohirrim had joined their company, even if he had had to sing the praises of the Wartnose. In the Eolingas' company they had managed to cross the wide fields and marshes of Rohan in only a few days. The orcs that had been trailing them ever since they had left Gondor, had vanished as soon as the Rohirrim had arrived. But the faint throbbing in his leg told Kíli the fiend was still there.

"The men are wondering what will become of them," Helge suddenly said. "Soldiers who deserted from Gondor's forces are not likely to find another post. Apart from the one they will hang us from."

"You didn't desert. You were under my command and you still are." Kíli stopped and looked from Helge to the other soldiers who were all watching him now. "You have no obligation to me. You are free to take up any post you wish. I am sure King Theoden would appreciate to have you in his army."

"Any man who wants to stay at Meduseld is welcome," Ailric nodded.

"What if we want to follow you?"

Kíli shook his head. "My future is rocky at best, following me is not wise. I have no money left to pay you."

"Because you spent enough money on us already," Nimir piped up and shuffled his feet in the new boots Kíli had payed for.

"And because the Steward most likely never paid you," Helge said.

Kíli smiled and shook his head. "I asked for payment as he saw fit."

After the first wage, which had been surprisingly small, Denethor had stopped paying altogether. But at that point Kíli couldn't care less; Tauriel's love had been reward enough.

"We were always proud to serve the Silver Tree. And now we are proud to serve you. We will not leave you until you have reached Erebor."

Kíli saw many men nod but others were frowning and kneading their chins in contemplation.

"You should think about Ailric's offer. The journey to Erebor is long and strenuous, not to mention dangerous," he said.

"You will not bear a grudge if we choose to stay in Rohan?" Hirgon asked.

"Why should I? You came to my rescue. I am grateful for that and would like to see you well provided for."

"You feckless pack of ingrates," Ryuak bellowed. "You are here because of the Commander. Because he made soldiers out of us. Because he saved our asses in Osgiliath. And that is how you thank him? By leaving him?"

Kíli patted the sitting man's shoulder to calm him and stop him from trying to get up.

"You are free men. The decision is yours alone. Do not feel obliged to stay with me. I will most likely travel quicker without you anyway."

"A shit you will," the wounded man growled. "You think we don't know those stinking bastards are following us? You cannot fight them on your own, not even with the elf. I for my part will stay and defend you. And should it be the last thing I'll ever do."

"Enough," Helge silenced Ruyak and the others who had started to shout and shove each other. "You heard the Commander. It is your decision. Make the right one."

The men continued to talk in hushed voices but gradually returned to their activities. Kíli turned to Ruyak who was still cursing his comrades under his breath, and grumbling something about ungrateful bastards, and how he was going to chop off orcs' heads. And that of any man who was going to leave the best commander the tenth ever had.

Kíli couldn't suppress a grin. "You seem to feel a lot better."

"I would feel even better if Haleth wasn't trying to poison us with his cooking. I swear I had something with a claw in my stew tonight."

"Cook yerself if ye always complain!" Haleth shouted. "I'll feed ye horse-dung next time!"

"Are you sure you haven't already? Tasted a lot like it!" Ryuak grinned and ducked when a wooden spoon came flying in his direction.

"Oi! Stop it! The man is already injured!" Ohtar caught the spoon and threw it back.

"I am as good as new." Ryuak patted his leg and flinched.

Kíli didn't like the fact that even so light a touch obviously caused him so much pain. Nor did he like the fact that Ruyak's fresh bandage was already stained with blood or the far too bright and feverish shine in the warrior's eyes.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" he asked Ohtar. "He needs to rest. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow."

"I tried," Ohtar answered. "But he doesn't want anything. Says the birch tea tastes like cat pee."

"It does. And I don't need anything", Ruyak said. "When Sarina, the kitchen maid, stabbed me in the hand because I grabbed some cakes, that hurt a lot more."

"He didn't just grab some cakes. He grabbed Sarina's booty," Ohtar chuckled.

Kíli winked. "Try this with a dwarrowdam and she will chop off your hand, Ruyak. They have a lot of temper, our lasses. And a lot of sharp weapons as well."

"Like them already. I can't wait to get to Erebor and see my first dwarf lady. What is like to kiss a lass with a beard?"

"Tickles."

"Ah." Ruyaks eyes glittered even more. „I might drink that birch stuff after all. I need to be my impressive self once we reach the Lonely Mountain."

"It is a long and demanding journey. We're going to stop at Lothlórien first and have an elven healer look at your wound. No offence, Ohtar."

The man shook his head. "None taken. Elven healers have a knowledge far superior to mine."

"Every butcher has." Ruyak bared his teeth in a grin. "The Commander just doesn't want the Lady Tauriel to treat me any more. She likes me, you know. Lasses always prefer a battle-scarred soldier to a pretty face."

"Shut up." Helge clapped him on the head before he steered Kíli away from the wounded man.

"Taking him to elven healers is certainly a good idea. He won't make it to Erebor in his condition. The Lady Tauriel told me there is nothing else she can do for him. She fears he might well lose his leg if he is not treated properly soon."

Kíli clenched his jaw. "Understood. Ailric says we will reach the border tomorrow. If we ride hard, we can make it to Caras Galadhon in two days. I'll send a raven to Lothlórien and ask for help."

Helge stared. "You talk to birds?"

"The Line of Durin can talk to ravens. They are proud birds and will only listen if they think it's worth their attention."

"Then I hope you have a way with those birds. Ruyak is a good man."

"Aye. Get some rest. We are riding at dawn."

Helge wished a good-night, and Kíli resumed his way to where the she-elf was sitting. She usually kept her distance when they made camp, and during the days she rode ahead and joined Nimir at scouting or fell behind to look for any clues of the pursuing orcs. Although she took great pains not to stay in his company any longer than absolutely necessary, he had noticed the paleness of her cheeks and tiredness on her face. He knew she needed to meditate when she was not sleeping but doubted that she did. And as far as he could tell she had skipped more than one meal.

"May I?"

She looked up and nodded her allowance for him to sit down next to her. He held out the satchel with berries he had been collecting.

"You should eat something."

"I am not hungry."

"Take one anyway, just for the taste. They are really good. Sweet, just as you like them."

She did and let the fruit slowly dissolve in her mouth, before her green eyes examined his face. "What about you? Did you eat?"

"Sure. Together with the men."

"I saw you sit with them and feed the contents of your bowl to the dog. I didn't see you eat."

"I wasn't very hungry."

"It seems we both lack appetite." She smiled gently. "Maybe you should take one of those as well."

He picked a berry from the satchel and turned it between his fingers.

"Ailric and his Eolingas are going to leave us tomorrow, and it is still a two days' ride to Lothlórien."

"You worry about the orcs."

He nodded, not surprised that she knew his thoughts. "We have wounded men. We travel slowly. It makes us a target."

"We outnumber them. The orcs won't dare to attack."

"Some of the men are going to join the horse people. I am not sure how many will leave, but it could weaken us considerably."

"I doubt their number will be large. And even if it were, we still are warriors to be reckoned with. The orcs don't have the courage to take us on." Her eyes focussed on him. "Although they were very determined to get you. Do you have any idea why?"

"Not the faintest. I could understand if they were after Fíli. He is King after all."

"You are his brother. You have access to him. To Erebor."

"So have many others."

"You were the only one with a Morgul wound."

He nodded slowly. "Gandalf said the scar was a Dark Mark. The body would forever remember the Dark Lord's touch if it came in contact with Morgul poison. It would open to Darkness."

"My healing was inadequate. I am sorry for that."

His head snapped up.

"Inadequate? You saved my life. What you did in Laketown was more than I could have hoped for. Probably more than I deserved. You shared your light to save me."

"I did so gladly. But I couldn't heal you thoroughly. You still suffer from that wound."

"Not really. It was the poison that made me suffer."

Judging by look on her face his poor attempt to joke failed.

"You have no clue who was behind that?"

He shook his head. "Someone inside Erebor. Even before I met Eyra I suffered from Morgul poison. I didn't know what it was, of course. All I knew was that I was in pain. Later I heard a voice in my head. Black Speech. There was nothing I could do but to wait until everything finally stopped."

"It just stopped? That is very unusual. You should have become a wraith."

"Too stubborn for that, I guess." He winked. But again, she didn't react.

"I am sure that is what your attackers wanted. To turn you into a wraith so that you would carry out their orders."

"If it was it didn't work. I have no idea why not. Gandalf said Morgul poison was difficult to make. Maybe they just couldn't work out how to mix the potion properly. It tasted horrid come to think of it, dusty and kind of smelly. Like… old socks." His voice trailed off. Now that he knew he had been poisoned he remembered that the pain had always been preceded by the distinct taste of what must have been the poison; thick, and dusty, and totally repulsive. He knew that the taste had been there even before Eyra had poisoned his drinks, just as he had been in that terrible and consuming pain before. But he couldn't quite recall the circumstances. One time it had happened after dinner in the Great Hall. Who could have tempered with his beverages? The answer was simple: nearly everybody.

"If I knew why someone wanted to make a tool out of me it would be a lot easier to find out who it was. Someone has to gain something from my condition."

"You should ask Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn when we arrive at Lothlórien. They are wise and will surely have answers to your questions. You don't have to bear all that weight alone."

He looked at her; at her long, elegant fingers picking a berry; at her perfectly curved brows that were slightly furrowed; at her eyes – green and ageless and beautiful beyond compare – so full of worry. The fear he had been suppressing surfaced with sudden might.

"Will you stay there?" His voice was breathless, raspy, and made her raise her eyes to look at him.

"At Lothlórien? Why should I?"

"It is a woodland realm populated by Silvans. It would be like home."

"You think that is where I belong?"

"I think you belong with me."

She looked puzzled. "You still feel that way? After all I said and did to you?"

"Of course I do. And I wish you would feel the same way. Would trust me. Love me."

She looked down at her fingers that were now crushing the berries.

"You accused me of wanting to run away whenever things get complicated."

"I am sorry I said that."

"You were right. I often have the urge to flee."

"You?" He laughed. "Come on. Never!"

"Not from a fight. I can deal with danger and threatening situations. What I want to run away from are emotions that I cannot handle. Elves have feelings like everybody else. But we do not allow those emotions to get a hold of us. A love as consuming as I experienced with you is not common among my kind. Even the good feelings, the passion, the joy, the happiness, for me are not easy to deal with. But pain, and jealousy, and fear, and… loss," she closed her eyes for a brief moment, "those feelings are tearing me apart. They frighten me beyond measure."

Red juice was now dripping from her fingertips, and she didn't look up as she continued to speak.

"If this is love, if love hurts so much, I do not want it."

"I want it. I want every single bit of it. I want the happiness, I want the passion, and I want the pain. I want all you have to offer. I want these feelings you are so afraid of. If it hurts, so be it. I want it all."

She looked at him, clearly not understanding. "Why? Why would you want that?"

"Because I love everything that is you. Even if your elven superiority drives me mad sometimes. Even if you give me that look. I love you all the more because you are not perfect. You are impatient, bossy, and arrogant. And at the same time you are insecure and frightened. You are so full of emotions, so full of life. Try as you might – you cannot run away from your feelings, they are a part of you."

"Thranduil tried to teach me how to control my emotions, but I am afraid I was a bad pupil. Mental tranquillity for me is hard to achieve."

"I am glad it is. Why do you think I fell in love with you? Because of your beauty? Your fighting skills? Your open-mindedness? Yes. But most of all because you were so very much yourself. You were nothing like the other elves."

"I am not sure that is a good thing."

"No? Why did you choose me then?"

"I don't think this matters now."

"But it does. Tell me."

She blushed ever so lightly. "You are courageous, and witty, and funny, and kind. And very handsome."

"So is Legolas. Maybe not funny. Or witty. And certainly not handsome. But still. Why did you choose me and not him?"

"Because… You were different. I had never met anyone like you before. You held no barriers, no prejudices. Everything seemed so light in your presence. It still feels like that. As if nothing could ever stop you or those near you. You have something about you that makes people want to be with you. Those soldiers left Gondor for you. The boy Faramir took a great risk for you. Even the dog won't leave your side."

He laughed. "A stray with crawlers."

"I followed you. I left my king, my post, my home. For you."

"Do you regret it?"

She looked into his eyes. "You were the reason I left Mirkwood. You encouraged me to be and to do what I had always dreamt of. I was free through you. Alive. I had no boundaries and yet I felt safe. I knew I could always rely on you. Now everything is put into question. Now I wish I could turn back time and not fall in love with you. But I chose you, and now I cannot be that elf again. I cannot live a secluded life any more. I cannot turn my back on the wonders of the world."

"Then don't. Stay with me."

"I can't."

He was sure he saw his heart fall to the rocky ground at her feet, saw it twitch and desperately beat to stay alive, saw it bruise and bleed and crumble. He was not sure he didn't step on it when he got up and took Tauriel's hand to place the rune stone in her palm and closed her fingers around it.

 **X**

 _If this is love, I do not want it._

The sentence was echoing in his mind as he sat on Frosti's back and rode ahead. It hadn't stopped while Ailric and his Eolingas said their farewells. It hadn't stopped when Aravir and Hirgon and six others had joined them. It was still in his mind when they were crossing the Limelight, when they entered the Fields of Celebrant, when the pursuing orcs reappeared that were now following them like evil shadows. It had been only momentarily silenced when Ruyak had lost consciousness and had fallen from his horse. Ohtar had taken the feverish man onto his own mount then and urged Kíli to make haste. But now that they were close to Lothlórien, the last rays of the setting autumn sun warm in their faces, the voice in his head was back. Beautiful, sad, and cruel.

 _If this is love, I do not want it._

He should have known that it wasn't going to last. She was an elf. Everybody had warned him that she would leave one day. Durin's ass, she had left him once already. What had made him think this time would be any different? Why did it hurt so much?

Because he loved her.

A low rumble emerged from the horizon, the earth itself seemed to quiver, it sounded like an avalanche out of thin air. The horses whinnied and shied, the men looked nervously around. And then the sinking sun was darkened by hundreds of black armoured orcs marching upon them. War cries in Black Speech echoed from behind, too. Their pursuers were attacking. Kíli knew that engaging them was their only chance of escape.

"Turn!" Kíli shouted. "Turn round! Fight!"

He signalled his men to pull their steeds round, break through the orcs' line and make for Fangorn forest. Helge followed his command without questioning and led the soldiers into battle. Kíli steadied Frosti who rose up on his hind legs as black arrows flew and ripped riders from their horses. He nocked arrow after arrow until his quiver was empty. Then he pressed his face into Frosti's whirling white mane and encouraged his pony to run as fast as he could. The stallion's hooves thundered, the world around them became a mere blur. But he saw her fall nevertheless. An orc's arrow hit her shoulder with so much force it knocked her straight out of the saddle. Tauriel hit the ground hard and didn't move. Her horse's hooves scuffed her body and tumbled her over.

Kíli yanked Frosti into a stop, forced him round and raced back to the unmoving elf. He was out of the saddle before the pony had even slowed down.

"Tauriel!"

He knelt and felt her pulse throbbing at the soft skin of her neck. Thank Mahal, she was alive. He scooped the unconscious elf into his arms, painfully aware of the Black battlecries that were approaching far too quickly.

Another horse skidded into a halt next to him.

"We don't have time!" Helge's voice was hoarse. "The orcs are almost here!"

"Take her up on your horse."

Kíli helped Helge to settle the limp body of Tauriel in front of him. He put a hand on the reins and looked up at the rider.

"Take the men into Fangorn forest. The orcs will not follow. Wait there until it is safe to head for Lothlórien."

He swung himself up on Frosti's back and drew his sword.

"But… What are you…?"

He locked eyes with the man. "Thank you for your loyalty and friendship. Take her to safety, her and the men. Do not turn back. Obey me one last time."

Helge paled. "No. I won't allow that."

Kíli shook his head. "As you said, we have no time. I will buy you time. Now ride, Helge! Ride hard!"

With that he spurred Frosti into a gallop. For once in his life, Kíli was very much aware of what the consequence of his actions would be.

He was utterly calm as he rode right into the deadly mass of enemies. Kíli let go of the reins and took his sword in both hands. Unwaveringly, Frosti was heading towards the wall of iron clad bodies, sharp spears, and spiked maces. He never slowed down, never shied, never stumbled, even when the first spear tore his side. They were surrounded by grey bodies now. Orcs were closing in on them, relentless like the coming of night. They were drowning in a current of death. Frosti was spinning round in a tight circle, his white mane was waving in the wind. His hooves were splitting armour and breaking bones. His body was pierced with spears and arrows. Red blood stained his grey fur and ran from his side. And then he went down. Kíli screamed in anguish and let his sword take out his hatred and pain until blackness engulfed him.


	25. Chapter 24

**Killing Frosti was the hardest thing. Even harder than tormenting my favourite couple even more.**

 **Thank you everybody for staying with the story, for reviews and support.**

 **There will be a happy end eventually. I promise.**

* * *

 **XXIV.**

Kíli's eyes opened to darkness. His nose caught a stench that made him retch. Something dead was rotting somewhere near him. When he tried to get up he was yanked back by an iron chain that tied him to a damp wall.

The Halls of Mandos? A stinky, wet and dark… prison?

The shackles around his wrists were heavy, clumsily forged from iron, too tight to strip them off. They had already bruised his skin. Kili fell back into his crouching position. His whole body was aching, and he recognised the familiar throbbing in his leg that told him orcs were nearby. His head ached badly, but he was alive and – strangely enough – whole.

He should have been dead. Why wasn't he? And _where_ was he?

His eyes started to adjust to he pitch-black darkness of his prison. Several hunched figures were chained to the rough stone wall. Apart from occasional coughing, it was so silent Kíli could hear the patter of rats' feet.

"Hey! What is this place?"

No answer. Not even a stir.

"Are you dead?"

"This one is. Next to you. Has been for some time," a voice said.

Kíli squinted and searched the ragged and crouching figures for the speaker. From under long, filthy hair a pair of eyes in a bushy-bearded, hollow-cheeked face looked back at him. The dwarf was chained to the wall and bound not only with shackles but with an iron collar round his neck.

Kíli looked at the figure next to him and realised that was where the stench came from. The impossibly skinny dwarf had been dead for some time. Maggots were wriggling in his open mouth, part of his left eye and some of his face had been eaten by rats. Kíli felt like being sick and quickly turned his gaze away.

"Where am I?"

"In the dungeons of Vardukanuk*."

When the harsh syllables fell from the dwarf's cracked lips, Kíli involuntary shuddered.

"That's Black Speech. An orcish settlement?"

The dwarf looked at him as if to make out whether Kíli really didn't know or if he was just pretending.

"The name of our prison. Every dwarrow in Ered Mithrin knows and fears that name."

"Ered Mithrin? Are you saying we are in the Grey Mountains?" Kíli gaped and leapt forward but was yanked back by the chains.

"You don't know?"

"The last thing I remember is that I was fighting orcs. Near Fangorn. Everything after that is just a blur. How long have I been here?"

"Some time. Nôl was still alive then. I thought, of the both of you, you would be the first to die. You were in a bad way. You drifted in and out of consciousness the whole time. The orcs must have given you something. Yet they wanted you to live. They forced water down your throat, even treated your injuries."

The dwarf eyed him warily. "Usually they don't bother. They like to keep good fighters as long as possible, that much is true, but I have never known them to make such an effort."

Absent-mindedly Kíli rubbed his throbbing leg. The orcs had attacked near Fangorn forest. It must have taken them at least three weeks to reach the Grey Mountains. And apparently he had been in the dungeons for a while. How much time had he lost? What had happened in the meantime? Had his men reached the safety of Fangorn? Was there even safety there? Kíli knew the stories about the old wood with its hostile trees that were rumoured to be a threat to any two-legged being. Even with a woodland-elf in their company – his heart clenched when he thought of her blood-soaked shoulder and lifeless form – Kíli could not be sure that his wild guess that the forest would grant them shelter, had been the right decision. Had the trees attacked them? Had the orcs got them after all? How was Tauriel?

He focussed on the ragged creature in front of him. His clothes were torn, and from what he could see beyond all that dirt und dried blood, the dwarf was only skin and bone.

"How long have you been here?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Thirty-three fights so far. Many moons. I lost count of the days."

"Fights?"

The dwarf laughed. Several of his teeth were missing. "That's why they keep us alive. They enjoy fights. They like to bet."

"So you are given a weapon?"

The dwarf laughed again. There was no joy in the sound, only bitterness. "I know what you think. But there is no way to fight them, no way to get out of here. Believe me, I tried."

Kíli eyed the dwarrow's heavy chains and iron collar. "They fear you."

"Killed some of the bastards when I got here. Broke one of the jailers' necks only yesterday. Got me a good flogging."

"Why have they imprisoned you?"

The dwarf grinned and scratched his nose that looked as if it had been broken several times. He was using his thumb and forefinger, the other fingers were missing.

"I will not be ruled by orcs. The Grey Mountains, Mount Gundabad – that is where the first Durin came into life. It is sacred ground. It should belong to dwarrows not to the black breed. But our Elders do not like when the order of things is questioned. To them I was nothing but a troublemaker. So they found a way to get rid of me."

Troublemaker. Three fingers chopped off. Kíli gasped.

"You're Thak!"

The dwarf stiffened. "How do you know my name? I have never seen you before."

"Eyra told me about you."

Thak bared his remaining teeth. "Nice try. I nearly fell for it. You were in such a bad state I would never have believed you were working for them. But Eyra? You don't know her."

"I met her at Erebor."

Thak shook his head.

"She told me about the settlement in the Grey Mountains. About you. She loved you."

Thak looked up slowly. "Loved?"

Kíli bit his lip. "She is dead. I am sorry."

"You want to break me. But you will not succeed. Whoever you are, whatever they promised you: You will not succeed!" He put his terribly thin arms around his body and was swaying back and forth. Kíli could hear him chant Eyra's name over and over again. "Alive," he heard the dwarf say. "She lives."

A cackling laughter branded up. There was a rustle of limbs, and something crawled up to Kíli. It was a spine-chilling creature made of spidery, long legs and grey skin, its yellow eyes pierced him. When its chain held it in place mere inches from him, Kíli let out a relieved breath.

The thing laughed again.

"You," it said in Westron, the heavy Black accent thick on its tongue. "You are the flawed one." It laughed again. "You are marked. We have long wanted to get hold of you. Make you snaga to our will."

That was the last thing he wanted to hear, he was more frightened already than he cared to admit. The hunched figures, the dark prison – it all was strangely familiar. He had seen it in Galadriel's mirror. That was the second thing that had come true after he had found Tauriel in the White City. What if the lifeless and bloody form of Fíli lying on the ground was no memory of Ravenhill? What if this was going to happen as well? Had already happened while he had been away all these moons?

The cackling laughter was shrill in his ears. "You are ours now."

Kíli kicked out with his iron-clad boot and hit the chained orc in its face. The orc shrieked and retreated, cursing him in Black Speech.

Kíli tore at his chains.

The dwarf's eyes glittered in the darkness. "What did it mean when it said that you are marked?"

"No idea. That orc seems to be even more deranged than they usually are. Why is it here?"

"Killed its first in command. It is one of the champion fighters. You don't want to meet it in the ring, believe me."

But it wasn't the orc he faced when they took him for his first fight. The jailers entered the prison, and the hunched figures shrank back even further into the darkness and hid their faces. When the orcs rattled chains, and kicked at the helpless bodies, and lashed with their whips, and dragged Kíli to his feet, bellowing commands in Black Speech he didn't understand; the imprisoned orc was tearing at its chains and shouting in its shrill voice. The other orcs laughed as they loosened Kíli's ties and switched into Westron, no doubt in order to scare him even more.

"It's getting boring. We need new flesh, fresh blood."

"He belongs to Lord Ulrug," the chained orc cried. "Do not damage him! He wanted him alive and whole!"

"Ulrug is away. And what if we got the wrong one? He doesn't look impressive. Imagine what Lord Ulrug will do to us if we bring him the wrong one."

"It is him! He bears the Dark Mark!"

"Better test him. See if he lives up to his reputation. He is supposed to have killed the mighty Lord Azog. A little creature like that?" The orc laughed. "If he is the Durin-scum, he will survive. We will know for sure then. Lord Ulrug will be pleased." The orc shoved Kíli. His bad leg was numb and aching, it gave way so that he fell to his knees and had to be dragged back up. The orc shoved him again and dragged him up again by his chain. It laughed delightedly. "In any case, we are going to have some fun."

When they eventually reached the arena, the orc removed the chain from Kíli's shackles and shoved him inside the ring. As he stared up into the rows and rows of shouting and raging orcs, blinded by the blazing flames of a single white-hot fire in the middle of the arena, one of the sorry, ragged creatures was led in.

Two swords were thrown onto the bloodstained sand, badly forged and misbalanced, but still dangerously sharp. The skinny creature, all beard and hollow eyes, seized one and waved it about.

Kíli slowly took the other, and while he looked up at the screaming and shouting mass of grey bodies, he scanned his surroundings. He discovered a small ledge in one of the walls, a stone he could put his foot on and push himself upwards. He tensed up to run and climb, when he felt a cutting pain at his back. He whirled around, sword in hand, to see his opponent lunge at him again. He blocked and pushed the skinny dwarf back.

"Stop it. I won't fight you."

But the dwarf attacked him again, his sword coming down in quick strikes. Kíli had no problem blocking them, but was forced to retreat or fight back, which he did not want to do. When the ragged creature drove him back several steps and he still wouldn't attack, a vicious orc guarding the ring lashed out with a whip that came down hard on Kíli's back and curled around his neck like a Balrog's tail. His opponent seized the moment of distraction and landed a blow. His sword cut Kíli's bicep, and Kíli reacted instantly and instinctively. He countered the blow with a mighty strike that disarmed his attacker and to Kíli's horror cut his throat the same time. The poor soul died before his body had even reached the ground.

The watching orcs cheered and threw rotten food into the ring, and the one with the whip lashed out at Kíli again until he dropped the bloodied sword.

When he was taken back into the cell, Thak was watching him.

"That was quick."

Kíli didn't answer. He struggled against being chained again, but went limp when one of the orcs put a knife at his throat and breathed in his ear. "Kill you, yes. Kill others, too."

It laughed viciously as it tied the chain to the shackles and kicked him for a goodbye.

Kíli rested his forehead on his knees.

"Gave you one of the ghosts, did they?" Thak asked. „They usually do. They like to know what you are like. Whether you will fight or not. How you fight. How you kill. The ghosts are worth nothing, only kept to get an idea of your skills." He paused. "Still. It was quick."

Kíli remained silent.

"Did him a favour, most likely. Better be killed quickly than to starve or die of your wounds. Happened to Nôl, your neighbour. Whimpered and cried for days. Being killed quickly is best that can happen, really."

Kíli looked up. "Not being killed at all would be best. Getting out of here would be best."

Thak laughed. "They all say that. Wait a few days, weeks, moons. Last some fights. Real fights. If you last. Then let's talk about escape again."

"We can escape," Kíli insisted. "There is always a way out."

He remembered Goblin Town suddenly, and the offending Goblin King staring at him.

 _Pick the youngest, make him scream_.

Kíli had been so determined not to let any of his fear show. He had glared at the fat goblin like Thorin would have glared, he had clenched his fists at his side and prayed he would not be picked. But at the same time he knew he would not allow the goblins to hurt Ori or his brother who had moved in front of him, protectively. And against all odds, they had found a way out. This time would be no different.

He had to rescue Fíli. He had to know whether Tauriel was alright.

He checked the chain at his shackles but it was solid.

"Do they ever unchain us? Apart from when we are picked to fight?"

"No."

So it had to be done on the way to the ring or during the fight.

"Do you know where the arena is? Which way leads out of here?"

"No."

"I think I know how to escape the ring. But we would have to fight our way through. If we are quick, it could work."

Thak stared at him from under his shaggy hair. "Yeah. Sure. Two dwarves against at least fifty orcs."

"It can be done," Kíli insisted. "What if the others would join? How many dwarves are imprisoned here?"

Thak laughed. "These are ghosts. The only other real fighter around here is Shruk, the orc."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes. Shut up. I know you were put here to get to me. To win my trust. They tried that before. But I am not so easily deceived. Tell that to the Grey Lords."

"I was captured and imprisoned. Like you. I am not even from around here. I am from Erebor. I told you."

"When you told me that my wife was dead. Filthy liar. How did she die, then?"

"She was poisoned. I tried to save her but it was too late. She warned me that Erebor was in danger. She even tried to tell me a name."

"You will never convince me of her death. So stop telling lies. Is it not enough what they have done to her family?"

"What did they do?"

"As if you didn't know. Many families were killed, but what they did to her baby brother, that is not an easy thing to forget. Or are you so callous that you really don't remember?"

"I am not from Ered Mithrin. I don't know what happened here."

"Oh, yes." Thak snarled. "You're from Erebor."

"Yes, I am. Eyra was sent to the Lonely Mountain. She was ordered to poison me. But we became… friends. She was killed before she could tell me who had sent her and what they wanted. Do you know anything about that?"

"This is getting more ridiculous by the minute. She would never work for them. And she lives."

"She did it to save you. They promised to pardon you."

Thak laughed. "As if!" He leaned forward and stared hard at Kíli. "And, by the way, there was no need to send her to Erebor to poison anyone. The elders placed an agent in the Lonely Mountain years ago. A dreaded poison master."

"What did you say?" Kíli felt as if his insides had turned to ice. A poison master. That made sense. Gandalf had said, Morgul poison was difficult to make. And Eyra had been killed by poison.

In the years following the battle, a lot of dwarrows had settled in the Lonely Mountain. That agent must have been one of them and at the same time someone close to the Royal Family. Someone who they trusted. How else had he or she been able to get close enough to Kíli to poison him?

Eyra had tried to tell him the name. He remembered the choked fragments of words. _Oss._

Damn.

Dwoss.

It made perfect sense. The first time he had been poisoned, Dwoss had been there. Had offered him his offensive spirits that smelled … dammit… like old socks. And after he had refused to drink it a second time, Eyra had suddenly approached him. And Kíli had been too stupid to make the connection.

Whatever mission Dwoss had at Erebor, poisoning the king's younger brother was just one piece in the puzzle. Since his arrival at Erebor, Dwoss had slowly worked his way into Council and to Fíli's side while at the same time he had tried to oust Kíli. He tried to gain control. He had encouraged Balin to gather troops and leave for Khazad-dûm, so that the Lonely Mountain would be nearly defenceless. Kíli all of a sudden remembered the voice he had overheard when the orc army had attacked Erebor. That had been Dwoss' voice. The attack on Fíli must have been his doing as well.

Kíli cursed, tore at his chains and tried to strip the shackles off. Other than breaking the skin he achieved nothing. Idiot. He had been such an idiot.

"Dwoss. Is that his name?"

That just shrugged.

"Overbearing asshole with a bushy grey beard that looks as if moths had eaten half of it?"

"No idea. You should know. I know you're an agent as well."

Kíli let out a frustrated roar. "I am not. Come on, help me. It is important. That agent, that poison master, what is his mission at Erebor? Tell me! The King could be in grave danger."

"You talk as if I cared."

"Dammit, I care! What is he up to?"

The other dwarf ignored him. Kíli turned to he grey figure that was watching him without blinking.

"You, orc! What do you know?"

The orc laughed, black and oily. "The eye is set on the Lonely Mountain. We will conquer it. Then conquer all. Our time will come again."

"You won't conquer the Mountain. We fought you back last time. We will always defeat you."

"The attack was too early," the creature wailed. „Dwarf soldiers were still there. The mountain was still too heavily armed!" The orc crawled towards Kíli once more. It exposed its sharp teeth, and its foul breath made his stomach turn. "You. It was your doing. You made them stay. You didn't kill the king. You resisted the Dark Lord's commands. How?" Then it turned away and laughed. "Matters not. Got you now. Lord Urulg has been waiting for this day. To lay his fingers on the Durin-scum. He will make you obey. And you will open the mountain for us. For the Dark Lord."

Kíli pressed his back closer to the wall.

—

They hadn't come to take him in to fight for some time now, not after the last time when he had killed another ghost in a matter of minutes. He had tried to escape when they had let him towards the arena, had even managed to wrestle his jailor down and to run. The orcs that had captured him again had beaten him up so badly he was still wondering how on Arda he had been able to stand on his feet and wield a sword, not to mention to kill his opponent.

Now most of the time he sat, his back against the wall, and dreamt. Of Tauriel mostly. Of Fíli.

How much time had passed, Kíli didn't know.

His stomach rumbled, and he was thirsty beyond anything when the orcs threw something into the dungeon. The ragged figures suddenly came to life and threw themselves at the bits of mouldy bread and rotten meat. The smell alone made Kíli gag. When he tried to get one of the jugs of stale water, dirty fingers snatched it out of his hand.

The orcs sniffed and poked the dead dwarf in his squishy eye, before they unlocked his shackles and dragged the corpse out of the cell, leaving a trail of slime and maggots. This time, Kíli threw up for real.

Thak still wasn't back. They had taken the dwarf to fight, and Kíli hoped he would survive. Even if he still would not trust him, even if he wouldn't speak to him, Thak was his only companion in this dark place; apart from Shruk, the orc, whom he tried to avoid.

Two orcs approached him, unfastened his shackles and kicked him as a sign to get up and move along. A fight? Thak hadn't returned. The dwarf was dead then, and the orcs wanted to spill more blood.

One of his jailers, a big and vicious one-eyed orc that loved to kick and punch him, pushed Kíli into the ring. He felt so dizzy that he stumbled before he found his footing again. In all the time he had been in the dungeon now, he had eaten as good as nothing. He had refused to taste the half-rotten meat of dubious origin and had taken only lumps of dry bread that made him thirsty, but there was always too little water.

A wicked sword with a jagged blade was thrown at his feet. When he bent to pick it up, he felt the upcoming attack more than he saw it. He managed to duck and roll out of his attacker's reach, grabbed the weapon and jumped to his feet.

"Thak! What in Durin's name…"

The dwarf who was bleeding from a wound in his thigh, lunged at him again, and Kíli dodged.

"Stop this! You don't have to do this."

Thak was wounded and obviously exhausted, but he was still a fighter to be reckoned with. His blows were fast, and heard, and unrelenting. He would have to fight him, Kíli realised, but he was still determined not to harm his companion. He blocked the attacks as if they were sparring, and when Thak's injured leg gave way, he managed to hook his foot around his ankle and make him fall. His boot came down on the dawrrow's chest, and he put his sword at his throat.

"Get it over with," Thak snarled.

"I don't want to kill you."

"Then you are a fool, and I will kill you."

"No, you won't. Stop fighting me. They cannot force you."

Thak laughed. "You have no idea."

Kíli threw his sword away.

"Vrasublatat! Kill! Kill!" The orcs in the audience were shouting.

The big orc at the side of the ring raised the whip and let it come down with force. But Kíli didn't pick up the sword. Faster and with more force the whip lashed him; again and again. Kíli covered his head with his arms but didn't back away from Thak who was crouching behind him. The whip had ripped his tunic and bit in his flesh; it hurt, he felt it sting and cut, he felt blood, and he felt shame. He was of Durin's line and was being whipped like a donkey. He thought of what Thorin would say to him now. He could almost see the disappointment in his uncle's eyes, and he snapped. Kíli didn't feel the whip curling around his arm as he turned towards the orc. The spliced ends of the lash were slithering over his wrist towards its master, and Kíli gripped them tight and although his shoulder was screaming in protest, he tore the whip right out of the orc's hand.

The crowd roared in anger, things were thrown into the arena, a stone hit Kíli on the temple. When his vision focused again, Thak got to his feet and raised his sword. Kíli mopped the blood from his face, shook his aching head to clear his vision and took up his sword again. Thak broke into a run. Kíli tensed and lifted his sword to defend himself, but the dwarf rushed past him, his sword came down on something that had crept up behind Kíli and was now shrieking in a high-pitched voice. He turned around and caught sight of an orc, sword drawn and teeth bared. With a thud and a mushy sound Thak's blade went through the orc's chest, and while he drew it out again, four more orcs jumped into the ring. They were armed with swords and maces and raced up to Thak. The audience trampled their feet and roared in expectation of the bloodshed.

A whip lashed between them and their attackers. One-eye appeared in the arena, flanked by orcs sporting spears and holding the fighters at bay.

Kíli thought fast. These five, they could take. Use the loose stone in the wall to climb up, kill the one with the whip, and then…one, two, three, eight, twelve – these were just the ones in the front row, and there were five rows of spectators at least. No. They would never make it out of here alive, not the two of them, exhausted as they were.

He had to be reasonable. Had to wait, to gather information, to think of something else.

One-eye was now standing in front of him and offered him a jug of water.

"Drink, Durin-scum."

Kíli frowned. Why was the orc interrupting a fight to give him water?

The orc nodded encouraging. "Drink. Fight. Make me rich. Put money on you, Durin-scum. Kill. Kill all."

Reluctantly, he reached out. He knew he should refuse, but he was so very thirsty. He was feeling increasingly dizzy, and doubted he would last much longer in the arena's heat. He needed water. To fight. To stay alive. Kíli took the jug and drank greedily. Too late he recognised the thick, dusty taste of Morgul poison.


	26. Chapter 25

**Sorry for the delay. I don't know why, but this one was a real bugger.**

 **Thank you for staying with the story!**

 **Sword**

* * *

 **XXV.**

Morgul Poison.

No, he thought. Not this. Not here.

One-eye grinned. "You are snaga. I order you, you obey. Kill all, Durin-scum."

The whip lashed over his head, the orcs in the ring screeched again and lifted their swords. The fight seemed to be re-opened.

Kíli felt fear rise as the throbbing in his thigh turned into the familiar sharp, stabbing pain. He gritted his teeth as an involuntary groan escaped him. The pain grew stronger much faster than he remembered. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and joined Thak who was fighting off the attacking orcs. Kíli knew he had to put an end to this while he could still hold himself upright. Which, judging by the rapidly increasing pain and dizziness he felt, would not be for long. His leg was burning, flames of pain licked at his intestines. The rushing of his blood was so loud in his ears, it drowned the screeches and the riot around him. His vision blurred and turned blood-red. The words in his head were rumbling like thunder: _**Kill. Kill all!**_

And then his world turned into a blur of sounds, a cacophony of shrieks and cries. His nostrils were filled with stench of blood and gore.

—-

Kíli winced. His body hurt, every inch of his body hurt.

He wanted to curl up into a ball, to retreat to whatever was left whole inside of him, to shut out images, pain, sounds, thirst, and nausea. But something at his neck kept him upright. An iron collar that hadn't been there before.

"They put it on while you were unconscious," Thak said.

He had passed out? When? Why? What in Durin's name had happened?

He wanted to ask, but could only groan. So much pain.

"What did the orc give you to drink?"

"Morgul poison," he mumbled. Mahal. What had happened to his voice?

"Morgul…? Are you kidding me? If it is anything like a Morgul wound, there's no way of surviving it."

Kíli laughed, but it came out like a choked cough. Someone else was laughing too. A cackling, scornful laughter without any trace of humour.

The orc approached them on all fours, carefully and slowly, like the predator it was. Its yellow eyes lay on Kíli without blinking.

"We put a Morgul shaft in his leg, long ago. Should have died. Should have become a wraith. Yet he lives." It cocked its head. "Why?"

"Yes," Thak demanded to know. „If it is true what the creature says, why are you not dead?"

"I was healed."

"I witnessed someone perish from a Morgul wound once. It is not something that can simply be healed."

Kíli spread his fingers in a helpless gesture and only then realised they were covered in black blood.

"I was very lucky."

The orc laughed again. "Has run out. Luck of yours. You bear our mark. We give you poison, make you snaga. We order you, you obey."

"Didn't work overly well." Thak was laughing heartily all of a sudden. "Unless you wanted him to kill the first two rows of spectators at the ring, strangle the flogger with its own whip and behead the one-eyed bastard that made him drink the potion."

The orc's laughter stopped, and Kíli choked.

"I did what?"

"I have never seen anyone fight like this before. You were terrifying. It took ten orcs to incapacitate you. Most of them lost a limb or two in the process."

Kíli raked his fingers through his matted hair and flinched when a sharp pain seared through his head.

"They knocked you out. I thought they had cracked your skull."

"Durin's skull," Kíli answered automatically. "Thickheaded."

Thak shot him a glance. "I was sure you were one of their agents. That they put you here to break me. But after what happened today, I no longer think so. Not after the Morgul poison. Not after what the orcs said. They know you, they keep you for some foul reason. I think it's about time you tell me who you are."

"Name's Kíli."

"Kíli? Kíli of Erebor? Brother to the King?"

"You know of us?"

Thak laughed. "Oh, yes. I know what they say about you. They call you the scourge for dwarfkind. The great-grandsons of the mighty Thrór open one of the oldest dwarven kingdoms to other races. The sons of Durin are befriending men and elves. They have no pride in dwarven purity, they are an insult to their noble bloodline. When the Grey Lords ordered the elders to send an agent to Erebor they were more than willing to comply. They are going to put an end to your reign." He grinned viciously. "And by the look of it, they're one step closer to that goal. They've captured you. No doubt they will get rid of your brother as well."

"Not if I can help it."

Thak laughed again. "You can't. You are a prisoner in the dungeons of Vardukanuk. The only way out of here is feet first."

"There's always a way," Kíli insisted stubbornly. "There has to be. I have to stop whatever plans Dwoss and those bloody elders of yours have to take over Erebor. I must make sure that my brother is alive and well. Fíli is the best king Erebor could wish for. He is a noble spirit. A natural leader. And he has never been affected by the gold-sickness most of our ancestors have succumbed to. The love for riches, that madness that drew Smaug into the mountain. That started a war. Fíli, an insult to our bloodline?" Kíli spat on the ground at his feet. "Those dwarves who want to rob him of the throne, those are not worthy of the blood flowing through their veins."

Thak stayed quiet. It was a long time before he spoke again.

"You saved my life, back in the ring. You defended me."

"You would have done the same."

"No, I wouldn't. In here, everybody is just trying to survive. Will do anything to live another day. Not to be punished. Benevolence has no place here. I would have killed you to save my life. Yet you defended me."

Kíli shrugged. "Think nothing of it."

Silence engulfed them again, and Kíli suddenly realised how exhausted he was. He closed his eyes and was on the verge of dozing off when That suddenly spoke.

"She is really dead, isn't she?"

"Yes."

Thak nodded slowly. "Then I have no reason to live."

"Don't say that."

"Thinking of her kept me alive. Helped me to keep my sanity. Now everything is lost."

"Eyra died, trying to save you. Honour her. If you yield, if you let the orcs break you, you will destroy everything she loved about you. Your stubbornness, your courage, your honesty. You will disappoint her, you will be not worthy of the faith she had in you. And that is worse than death." Was he still talking about Thak or was he talking about himself and Tauriel? He pushed that thought aside. "What about your people? You don't want them to be ruled by orcs. That was the reason you were imprisoned. They need you."

Thak laughed bitterly. "They put me here."

"Those who fear you. What about those who followed you? Those who believed you?"

"What about them?"

"Will they not want to escape the colony? With Erebor's soldiers you can put an end to the orcs' regime."

"You would send your soldiers to our aid? "

"You are kin. Any help you may need we will give gladly."

Thak's eyes glittered in the darkness.

"I have never met someone like you before," he finally said. "Someone who is loyal and just. Honest. I have to think about what you said."

He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Kíli listened to his laboured breathing, to the occasional coughs of the few other prisoners, to the orc murmuring in Black Speech, and his heart sank. He had tried to encourage Thak not to lose hope, but in truth he didn't feel half as confident as he had pretended to be. He was chained to a dungeon's wall, every bone in his body was aching, and he had not the faintest idea how to escape. He tried to think about his options, tried to conjure up a plan, but his brain felt like mush. Judging by his headache, it most likely was.

He wondered how long he had been in the orcs' dungeons now. His usual stubble had grown into a full beard, so he reckoned it must have been quite a while now. Weeks? A full moon? More? He had tried to keep track by scratching notches into the ground, one for each day. But since he couldn't be sure how much time passed between waking and sleeping, between fights and food, he had no idea whether his count was accurate. So he had stopped some time ago. There were far too many lines on the ground anyway. His head ached and his leg throbbed in remembrance of the Morgul poison. Kíli closed his eyes. Just for a minute.

He woke up with a yelp and a desperate gasp for air. Which one of his many nightmares had tormented him, he couldn't remember. Thorin dying on Ravenhill? Fíli lying motionless in his own blood? Tauriel falling, her beautiful body a heap of limbs, her pale lips telling him how much he had disappointed her; how much he had hurt her? A small whimper escaped his throat. It felt raw, as though he had been screaming.

A jug was pushed towards him, and he managed to pull it closer with his foot.

"The orcs were here with food and water while you were out. I saved some for you," Thak said quietly.

"What about you?"

"You need it more than I do."

"But…"

"I can go without, you cannot. You need to recover, to heal. We need to think of a plan."

"A plan?"

"To get out of here." Thak bared his ruined teeth in something akin to a smile. "Not so long ago, I was certain I would turn into a ghost. At my last fight, I was convinced I would die. When you told me of Eyra's death, I felt I had no more reason to live. But now I find myself believing you. We can survive this. We can escape. You gave me hope."

He fell silent. The unmistakable sounds of heavy steps and the clanking of armour made both dwarves anxiously look at the dungeon's gate.

"The orcs are coming for us," Kíli whispered.

"Another fight?" Thak cursed. "After what you have done they will most likely have doubled or even tripled the guards. We won't be able to escape. What are we going to do?"

"We watch out for anything that can be useful to us. We seize an opportunity when we see one. And most importantly, we survive."

They heard keys unlock the iron barred door, followed by the sounds of the orcs' heavy footsteps. Thak had been right about the orcs taking precautions. Even the guards that had come to fetch them had doubled their numbers. They unlocked the chains and yanked the two dwarves to their feet.

"Don't worry. I won't fight you," Thak murmured under his breath. "They are not getting what they wish for."

One of the orcs laughed. "I have a new opponent you will not be able to defeat. Got in this very day, dangerous, a good fighter. I put money on this one. You will die, Shakutarbik."

Another orc dragged Shruk towards Kíli and chained them together. The imprisoned orc was spitting, and wailing, and trying to free itself, until a hard blow on its head made it shut up.

"You cannot give me that dwarf to fight. Is for Lord Ulrug, this one. Bears our mark! He has to live!"

"Then don't kill him." The orcs laughed, and Shruk hissed and bared its sharp teeth.

"Wait until Lord Ulrug is back. Will punish you for this. Will put you in the dungeons. The warrant said alive."

"He is back. And he is looking forward to see how the Durin-scum is faring in joined combat."

Thak cursed. "Joined combat? That is bad. The fighters are chained together until one is killed. And that orc is a supreme fighter."

"Enough talking." The orc that had Kíli's chain wrapped around its big, grey fist yanked him brutally towards the exit. Shruk who was dragged behind, choked and tried to punch the guard. They were shoved out of the dungeons in a tangle of limbs. Not until they were half-way through the tunnels was Shruk finally silenced. The chained orc was trotting in Kíli's wake, murmuring to itself in Black Speech.

The audience was cheering and throwing things when they were pushed into the ring. The big fire was blazing and a bizarre pattern of light and shadow danced over the rows and rows of spectators. The front row was now secured by spears. At the other side of the arena, three orcs shoved a person inside the ring, too tall to be a dwarf. They locked Thak's chains with those of the newcomer, and when the hooded figure had taken the sword, a whip snapped just above their heads as a sign that the fight was on. The rows and rows of orcs were shouting even louder now and trampling their feet, and Shruk wielded its blade and attacked. Kíli blocked and saw Thak carefully approach his opponent. Both had their swords ready to strike. Kíli ducked as Shruk's jagged blade swooshed over his head. The orc fended off his counterstrike easily, but Kíli hadn't paid much attention to him anyway. His eyes were glued to Thak and his opponent who were still circling each other. Something about that hooded figure was painfully familiar. Those movements, elegant like a dance and yet dangerously predator-like; the way the sword was slicing through the air; the aura of watchfulness and readiness to fight.

"Oh, no."

He jumped forward, dragging Shruk along who was trying to stab him in the side, and shouldered aside Thak who had lifted his sword to attack.

"Don't!"

The dwarf's eyes were dark and glittering with the want to fight. "Why not? It's a bloody elf! Better her than me."

"No! She is not our enemy!"

Thak shoved him out of his way and attacked again. His opponent averted the strikes easily, but she was shielding her body. Was she injured?

Thak obviously had seen it too and directed his attacks to her middle. Kíli's blade intercepted Thak's in a shower of sparks.

"If you harm her, I will kill you." His voice was a deep growl.

"Kíli! I am so glad I found you." Tauriel pushed the hood from her red hair that was secured in one thick braid. "I wanted to be here a lot sooner, but they insisted that my wound should at least close before we went after you."

Kíli felt a strange sense of dread. "Who is we?"

"Your men, of course."

From the corner of his eye Kíli saw Shruk coming at him from behind and shoved his elbow hard into the orc's nose. A sickening crack was followed by a wail and splatters of black blood.

"I told them not to follow."

"You also told them they were free men. Free to go and to do whatever they wanted. And they wanted to pursue the orcs who captured you."

"I wanted them to be safe. I wanted you to be safe. Now you are a prisoner of orcs after all."

"Not for long." The elf's lips curled into a smile.

The whip lashed at them, and Shruk obediently lunged. Kíli blocked the attack and drove the orc back with one quick strike.

"What do you mean, not for long?"

She shook her head as a sign that she couldn't speak but her fingers twisted subtly, telling him that Helge and the tenth division were just outside the orcs' city and would very soon attack. That they had been determined to rescue him as soon as they realised the orc army had captured him. She told him how Fangorn forest had granted them shelter, once the trees had recognised her as a Silvan elf, a creature of the woods. How she and Ruyak had been nursed back to health by a ranger they had met when they had been following the track left by Kíli's captors.

Thak gasped loudly when he realised the elf's hands were speaking Iglishmêk. Kíli had secretly taught her shortly after their marriage, although it was strictly forbidden. No outsider was allowed to know the dwarrows' sacred sign language – but to Kíli Tauriel wasn't an outsider. She was Amrâlimé. Nevertheless, he had been sensible enough not to tell anybody. Not even Fíli knew the elleth could master Iglishmêk.

"They are going to set the underground city on fire and burn the orcs out," her fingers were saying. "I volunteered to go inside and find you. Be ready. It won't be long now."

Thak looked from one to the other, clearly not understanding what was going on. Still he nodded and when he lifted his sword again, his fingers on the pommel made the sign for agreement.

"Let's fight," he murmured. "For show or they will send others to finish us off."

Strike followed counterstrike, and all attacks were easily blocked. Shruk's sword came dangerously close to slicing Kíli's leg once, but all in all the orc was easily forced back. The audience began to shout them down and to throw stones. The flogger was lashing out at them, and the spectators trampled their feet and roared their approval.

"Quiet!" A black voice thundered from one side of the ring to the other. A giant Gundabad orc rose to its feet, its shark-like, pale eyes sitting deep in its pale, scarred flesh, glared at the prisoners. It bared its sharp, pointy teeth in a vicious smile.

"Shruk. You are a disgrace. Why are you not fighting properly?"

The orc winced and bowed so deep its bald head almost touched the ground.

"My Lord Ulrug! So good to see you back."

Ulrug laughed, its wide chest rumbled under the armour made from rusty metal and from a skin that looked disturbingly like that of a two legged-being.

"Is it?"

Shruk grabbed Kíli's neck, its sharp nails breaking his skin as it forced him down on his knees.

"Oh, yes, it is my Lord. This is the one you have been looking for. I told them not to make him fight. To keep him for you. They didn't listen. But Shruk watched over your property."

The laughter increased. "Oh, but I like to see him fight. He is nothing like I thought he would be. Skinny. Battered. Unimpressive."

"Of course." Shruk kicked Kíli for emphasis. "Unimpressive. But the Dark Lord wants him. Has plans for him. Yes?"

"Yes." The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had started. Ulrug stepped down into the ring and pushed those brutally aside that didn't make way quickly enough. The giant orc stopped in front of Kíli, who had managed to struggle free from Shruk's grip and get to his feet. Still, he had to look up if he didn't want to enjoy a good view of the orc's groin.

"The Dark Lord has plans for you, scum. With Morgul poison you will no longer know you are a son of Durin. You will be His tool. You will do as He says. Soon Sauron will rise again and unleash war, and you will be the key to His success. He wants you to kill your littermate and take the throne for Sauron. You will open the Lonely Mountain to our forces. Erebor will no longer stand between Him and His conquest of Middle Earth. "

"Never."

Ulrug smiled. "No. I don't think so either. I have other plans for you."

"But… He is for the Dark Lord," Shruk shouted at the giant orc. "You must obey. You are His servant!"

Ulrug punched the wiry orc in the face and it went down, half dragging Kíli with it. The uncanny pale eyes looked at the dwarf again.

"I listen to Sauron. In these mountains I am His ear. I know the Dark Lord wants you. But my need is greater. I have long yearned to spill the blood of he who killed my father."

"Your… What?"

"I am Ulrug, son of Azog."

Kíli choked. "Azog? Is that what this is all about? You want revenge?"

"Revenge?" The big orc laughed. "Orcs do not care for sentimental weaknesses like revenge. I claim my right of bloodshed. You have deprived me of my chance to kill Azog myself. I will never have the honour to bathe in the blood of my sire. I must be content with the next best thing – you." He grabbed Kíli by the throat and lifted him off the ground so that Shruk had to balance on the tip of his toes. "And I will make you bleed, Durin's heir, slayer of Azog. You will bleed for me."

Kíli struggled in the orc's grip and clawed at the grey fingers that held his throat like a vice. But Ulrug's fist closed even tighter around his neck. He choked and gasped for air, dark blotches clouded his vision. Suddenly the fingers let go and Ulrug crashed to his knees with a grunt. Tauriel's sword dripped with black blood as she lifted the blade again and sliced the giant orc's throat with one mighty stroke.

"No, he won't," she said coolly.


	27. Chapter 26

**XXVI.**

Ulrug's pale body fell forward and hit the ground with a thud that echoed loudly in the sudden silence. No one said a word, no one made a move. Everything seemed to be frozen. There was only Ulrug's black blood seeping away in the sand.

And then everything happened at once. With a roar the audience got to their feet. The orcs were shrieking and shouting from the tops of their lungs, several grey, long-limbed figures climbed over the spears and entered the ring. The whip was cracking and biting the prisoners' flesh. The guards came rushing at them, swinging their maces and swords and axes.

"We cannot fight them! They are too many!" Thak was stepping backwards the same time Tauriel lifted her sword again to engage the guards.

"This way, Durin-scum. Come!" Shruk turned and ran, the chain that linked him to Kíli forced the dwarf to stumble along. He looked back and saw Tauriel fight the guards while Thak was pulling at her chain to make her stop and follow the orc as well.

"Tauriel!" Kíli yelled her name. "Tauriel! Get out!"

He was yanked aside into a small, steep tunnel that was so narrow he bumped his head and went down on his knees. Shruk pulled him along mercilessly, and Kíli had to crawl on all fours if he didn't want to be dragged through the tunnel by the chain.

"Kíli!" That was her voice, and she sounded desperate. "Where are you? Kíli!"

"Tauriel!"

He pulled at the chain. "You, orc! Stop! We must wait for them." He shouted her name again.

Shruk bashed him in the face. "Quiet, scum! Shruk takes you to Sauron. Gets a reward. What happens to the others, Shruk doesn't care."

"I care." Kíli's hand wrapped round the chain and his feet found leverage at the tunnel's walls. Shruk pulled and yanked at the chain but Kíli didn't give in. The orc shrieked and cursed, its claws scratched Kíli's arms and it bared its teeth to bite. Kíli kicked it in the fangs, and it let go of his arm.

"Tauriel!" His yell was killed by a sudden coughing-fit. Billows of smoke hung in the air.

"Durin-scum, come! Must get out of here, must get upwards! Only chance!" The orc was shrieking, clearly in panic. Smoke was rapidly filling the narrow tunnel. It was so thick now, Kíli could no longer see the orc that was chained to him. He felt Shruk pull at the chain again and gave in. They had to get out of the tunnel if they didn't want to suffocate. He covered his nose and mouth with his free arm. The sword in his hand scraped along the tunnel walls, got stuck once, but he didn't let go. The smoke was biting in his eyes and getting in his lungs, he was coughing desperately and crouching even lower as he followed the relentless pull of his chain. He could only hope Shruk knew where it was heading and didn't collapse and block the way out. What about Tauriel and Thak? Had they found a way out or were they trapped on the lower level that was undoubtedly filled with smoke now? He had to get rid of the orc and find them.

Suddenly Shruk's hard, bony fingers grabbed his collar and yanked him to his feet. The tunnel was opening into a giant hall, and hundreds, nay, thousands of orcs were running panic-stricken from one end to the other, trying to climb stairways and ladders or to escape through the many tunnels. They were fighting and even killing each other in their eagerness to reach the escape routes; the grey bodies swept over the fireplaces in their haste to flee; their clothes and hair caught fire; their shrieks echoed from the cave's walls. How they were ever going to cross the hall and escape the burning underground city unharmed, Kíli had no idea. The fires were rapidly spreading now, and the fighting for a way out got even more grim. Shruk's fingers dug into his flesh and forced him to turn right. The orc's yellow eyes were set on a small gap to their side.

"Shruk knows secret passage," the orc mumbled. "Takes Shakutarbik with him, takes the scum to Sauron. Dark Lord will be pleased. Shruk will be first in command then. Yes. Come. Quickly."

It steered Kíli towards the gap, cutting down other orcs like blades of grass. Thak had been right. That orc was a superior fighter. He could count himself lucky, Kíli realised, that it seemed to be determined to keep him alive and get him out of the deadly chaos.

"Jump, scum."

Kíli stared at the sheer bottomless gap that opened right in front of him. What? Jump down a chasm? He peered down and couldn't see anything but blackness. Shruk stepped over the edge and disappeared. The chain strained, and his arm was yanked forward. Desperately Kíli tried to keep his footing, to find a hold, but the chain pulled him down mercilessly. His fingers slithered over the rock face but couldn't stop his fall. He was dragged down by the heavy body of the orc. What a stupid way to die, Kíli thought fleetingly, and he wondered if the orc would still be attached to him when he entered the Halls of the Waiting. He bumped hard on the ground. Ow.

Ow?

Not dead?

He opened his eyes and realised they had landed on a ledge only several feet down. Shruk was already on its feet again and started to climb a rope ladder that was fixed to the stone wall. It gestured Kíli to follow.

"Up."

"No."

The orc pulled at the chain. "Up. Escape. Now."

"No." Kíli lifted his sword that he had clutched tightly to his body during his fall. "I need to find the others first."

"Others matter not. Dead already. You must live. Shruk takes you to Mordor."

"I have no intention of going to Mordor, orc. And even less to meet the Dark Lord. I'm going back and get the others out of here."

The orc pulled at the chain, but Kíli didn't move.

"Will force you. Shakutarbik must obey."

"Try."

Shruk attacked with so much force that a shower of sparks rained down on Kíli who had ducked just seconds before the orc's blade hit the stone. Shruk shrieked in anger and attacked again. The strikes came quickly and mercilessly, and Kíli barely managed to block them. The orc was clearly used to fighting in joined combat, while he struggled to find the right angle to attack. His shackled wrist was burning and bleeding with the effort of keeping his opponent in place. More than once his feet came dangerously close of stepping over the ledge and if it hadn't been for Shruk pulling him back, he would have slipped. The orc's blade cut his arm. Sweat got into his eyes, and he felt the exhaustion caused by many days without food, or water, or sleep. His attacks were imprecise, his breath was ragged, and he realised he couldn't defeat the orc. He was going to lose the fight.

But he mustn't. Even if it was unlikely that Shruk would kill him, it would injure him, maybe even render him unconscious, so that it could take him to Mordor more easily. He would not be able to turn back for Tauriel and Thak. He would betray Fíli, endanger Erebor.

It took him an effort to block another attack and push the orc backwards. He needed help.

Kíli retreated to the stone wall, his back bumped against sharp rock, his bleeding sword-arm shielded his head and chest while the orc's strikes hammered down on him in a deadly and vicious volley. He couldn't keep up his defence much longer, he knew, but he forced himself to stay calm. To melt into the stone. To feel it, let it talk to him, let it reveal its secrets. Its weaknesses. His shackled hand managed to touch the stone, and it responded eagerly. Ered Mithrin recognised the long-missed touch of Durin's blood and spoke to him, telling him all that he needed to know. He kicked the attacking orc backwards and lifted the rusty sword. But instead of attacking the grey fiend, he rammed the blade right into the part of the wall where the stone was porous.

Shruk laughed and lifted its sword for the death-strike. But it never came. The overhanging rock collapsed and squashed the orc. Its cries were smothered by the rumble of tumbling rock. Kíli let out his breath and shook small pieces of stone from his head. Only when the dust had settled he realised the flaw in his plan.

He was still chained to the orc that now lay buried under tons of rock.

He pulled at the chain. He tried to move the rocks. He made an effort to split the chain links with his sword. He slashed at the stones with his weapon. He tore at his shackle and tried to squeeze his hand through. He attempted to leverage the rocks with the blade until it broke. He kicked the massive stones, and cursed, and screamed at his own stupidity.

And then he sat on a boulder and forced himself to breath steadily.

He looked at the chain again that the sword had only scarred. He looked at his bloodied wrist. And at the blade that was sharp and jagged where it had been broken by his useless attempts to lever the stones.

His throat was suddenly so dry he had to swallow.

An archer with just one hand.

Kíli closed his eyes. He thought he could hear Tauriel call his name. He thought of Fíli who didn't know of the danger he was in. He thought of Erebor and of the Dark Lord. Of all the dwarrows that would die if the Grey Mountain orcs would invade. He thought of his mother. _Inik-dê_ , she had said.

And he would. Mahal be damned. He would.

He opened his eyes and gritted his teeth. His hand trembled when he raised the sword.

Two bodies landed on the ground next to him with a thud that was followed by Khuzdul swear words. Tauriel got to her feet in one fluid motion while Thak was still swearing and disentangling himself from the chain that fixed him to the much taller elf. The elleth paid no attention to his ramblings. Her green eyes surveyed Kíli as if to check whether he was alright. Her gaze wandered to his chain that disappeared under the rocks, and the sword in his hand, ready to fulfil the dreaded task. She paled.

"What were you doing?"

"What else can I do?" His voice was trembling too much for his liking.

"There must be another way." Her voice wasn't steady, either.

She tried to force the shackle over his hand.

"No use. I tried that."

"Let's break the chain. Give me your sword."

"Tried that, too. Didn't work."

"We have to move the stones."

"They won't give way. Too heavy."

"It's three of us now. Let's do it together."

They tried to shoulder aside the rock that was on top. It shifted a few inches but was far from revealing the orc's wrist with the shackle and chain.

Thak shook his head. "It's not working. Breaking the chain is the only chance. Up there are a lot of orcs with weapons. Surely we can find a mace or an axe."

Tauriel clenched her jaw and shook her head. "I am not leaving him."

Despite everything, Kíli chuckled. "I am not going anywhere."

Thak looked at them, clearly puzzled. "What is it with the two of you? Anyone who didn't know better would think you are in love or something."

He frowned when Kíli averted his gaze and busied himself with rubbing at some stains on his leather trousers and Tauriel started to climb up again swiftly and without a word of warning. Thak nearly toppled over when his chain pulled him along unexpectedly.

In love.

Or something?

Kíli sighed. He was in love. Definitely, ridiculously and despite his better judgement. But what about her? He doubted that being captured and imprisoned by orcs, being nearly killed by some terrifying spawn of Azog and wanted by the Dark Lord himself was helping to convince her that loving him wasn't one big mess.

Anxiously he listened to the sounds of fighting from above. It didn't take long and Tauriel jumped down and landed on her feet while Thak bumped unceremoniously on his backside and cursed. The heavy axe he had been carrying skittered over the ground. He was getting to his feet and reaching out for it when several grey bodies climbed down the stone walls and surrounded them. Tauriel kicked one orc in the chest and it stumbled backwards over the edge and disappeared with a shrill shriek. Thak killed another with his sword. Kíli stabbed a third one while Thak was fending off numerous orcs now that were jumping onto the small ledge. Two or three of the creatures tumbled over the edge and fell into the abyss below, their death-cries echoed from the stone walls.

Tauriel took the heavy axe but hesitated. "I am not used to a weapon like this. Thak should do it."

Kíli looked to where the dwarf was fighting two opponents at once. "He is busy right now."

"What if I miss? What if the blade slips?"

"You won't miss. You can do it. I want you to do it."

"What if I hurt you? Or worse?"

"I was ready to chop off my hand. What can be worse? Tauriel, trust me."

When she looked at him, uncertain, he realised his poor choice of words. _Trust me._ Idiot. But she nodded. Only her teeth biting her lower lip revealed her nervousness when she let the axe cut down with force. With a clank the chain links fell apart. Such a load was taken off his mind that he flung his arm around her and drew her into a passionate kiss without even thinking. She was blinking and breathing heavily when he let go. An orc's mace swooshed over their heads.

"Let's get out of here. Quick. Everything is off the chain!"

"Your sense of humour is in even worse shape than you are." She plunged her dagger into an orc's heart. It fell backwards and knocked over the one behind it that fell onto two others. The four orcs tumbled down the chasm, one after the other like pearls on a string. Kíli winked at Tauriel, the sweet taste of her lips on his tongue making him feel reckless.

"You don't think a chain reaction is a laughing matter?"

She rolled her expressive eyes, but her lips curled in a smile that she lost instantly when hundreds of orcs came crawling down the cave walls.

Kíli gasped and gestured to the rope ladder. "Tauriel! That's the way out, go!"

She nodded and swiftly drew herself up the wobbly contraption. Thak followed closely. Kíli fought the pursuing orcs to guarantee them a good head-start before climbing up himself. After a few steps he chopped off the clamps that secured the fragile construction on the wall. The orcs climbing the ladder below him shrieked and vanished into the blackness of the chasm together with loose pieces of rope. The ladder that was held by just two pegs at the top end was swaying dangerously now, and Kíli needed both his hands not to loose his balance. Arrows rained down on him and he flinched when one hit the stone next to him. Another arrow nearly severed the rope above his right hand. The corded ladder creaked as though it was going to snap.

A hand grabbed Kíli from above and hurled him over the edge.

"I told you I would be there to save your ass," a coarse voice said. And then, as if to make up for his unseemly behaviour: "Commander."

"Ryuak!"

"Aye." The man grinned. "Let's get out of here while the others are driving back the black breed."

He ushered them through a tunnel that was lined with dead orcs into the open. Although the sky was grey and cloudy, Thak, who had spent a long time in the darkness underground, was shielding his eyes. Even Kíli had to blink in the pale autumn light. When he managed to keep his eyes open he looked right into the bright green of Tauriel's. She looked worried, anxiously, and even a little lost. His heart clenched. This was not how she should feel. She must smile and be confident and at ease. Wordlessly he closed his arms around her, and they held each other tight until Thak was audibly clearing his throat.

The other dwarf was still chained to the elf, Kíli remembered and disengaged from their embrace. But he still had to check if she was unharmed. There was a small cut on her cheek, her braid had come loose, and her knuckles were bloodied. He recalled how she had shielded her body during the fight.

"Are you injured?"

She looked at him, surprised. "No. What about you? You look terrible."

He grinned. "You don't think the beard suits me?"

"I like you better without. But this is not what I meant. You have clearly suffered at the hands of the orcs."

"Nah. I'm fine." He reached up to cup her face and kiss her, but she turned her head away. "What's wrong? I'll shave that bloody thing off as soon as I get my hands on a decent knife. Or do we still have issues?"

"It's complicated."

"Actually, it's not. Do you love me? Yes or no?"

"Yes."

Thak choked and his eyes bulged.

"But that doesn't make it any easier," she continued flatly.

He was about to argue when, with a quick glance to Thak, she straightened and her features settled into indifference. End of conversation, it seemed.

Something jumped at him and nearly toppled him over. Kíli felt paws on his chest and a tongue lick his chin. Lucky was barking painfully loudly into his ear to get his attention.

"You're a pain in the ass, dog." Kíli petted Lucky affectionally. He had missed the little blighter.

"Without that dog of yours we wouldn't have found you," a voice said. "We lost the orc's track in the mountains. But the dog followed your trail and led us to their den." Helge's grinning face was peering down at him. "It's good to have you back, Commander."

"It's good to be back, Helge."

The man nodded. "Nimir and the rest of us are currently driving back the orcs and blocking the tunnels. As soon as all the men are back outside, we should leave this blasted mountains. Who knows how many orcs are going to follow us once the sun sets."

"Agreed. Prepare everything for our departure. Find an axe and free the Lady Tauriel from that grumpy dwarf here who is still struggling with the fact that dwarves and elves can be on good terms."

"Good terms," Thak sneered. "That's a way to put it. If your terms get any better we will have the first marriage between a dwarf and an elf."

Helge grinned. "As far as I know that has already happened."

Thak choked, and Kíli looked at Tauriel who was still wearing what he used to teasingly call her elven visage. But he could see the quick flutter of her lids and the lightest shade of a pink flush on her cheeks. She had been reminded that they were married and that didn't leave her unaffected. Would she still deny it because the official ceremony had been dwarvish? Somehow he doubted that. Something had changed.

Helge gave a curt bow. "I'll go and get an axe, Commander."

When Helge had left, Thak blinked. "These are men," he said slowly. "They are calling you Commander."

Kíli shrugged. "They like to. And why shouldn't they? They are under my command after all."

"Men? Under your command?" Thak guffawed. "I have never heard of a dwarf leading a human division before. Not to mention the elf business. You really are full of surprises, Kíli of Erebor."

"Indeed, Master dwarf. He is," a voice rumbled. Kíli winced slightly at the sight of the tall, grey-robed figure approaching him. Gandalf looked down his big nose at Kíli. "Imagine my surprise when I woke up one morning to find him gone when he promised to accompany me for his own good."

"I am sorry I sneaked away. I shouldn't have done that."

Gandalf's watery blue eyes rested on him for a long while. "For several reasons I am glad you did. One being the dwarves that were looking for you not long after you had left."

"Huh? Did Fíli send someone?"

"No. These dwarves didn't mean well. They left a trail of blood. They captured an elf of Lothlórien and tortured him to find out where you went."

He choked. "Tortured?"

"He barely made it back to the Golden Wood to tell us what had happened."

"How is he?"

"He sailed into the West."

Kíli closed his eyes. "I am very sorry."

"He couldn't give us proper descriptions. To him all dwarves looked alike. Armed to the teeth, bearded, vicious. But he said the leader had a black beard and sported an impressive scar at the side. A scar that looked like an arrow. Does that sound familiar to you? Do you know a dwarf fitting that description?"

"No." He raked his shaking fingers through his hair. "Who would do such a thing? Those dishonourable dwarven elders from Ered Mithrin maybe?"

"Maybe." Gandalf didn't sound convinced. And Thak who was still standing next to Tauriel and had listened, didn't look too convinced.

"These Grey Mountain dwarves are willing to give over Erebor to Sauron. Dwoss is their agent which means Fíli is in grave danger. We must get back immediately. I need to get out of the mountains and find a raven to send a warning."

"We must travel at once," Gandalf agreed. He waved a tall man nearer. A ranger, judging by his simple but practical clothes, his leathers and gear. A silver ring on his forefinger caught Kíli's eye. Two dragons, their tails holding a single, sparkling emerald. It was exquisitely crafted and much too valuable for a simple ranger. Kíli looked up to the man and into the clearest blue eyes he had seen for over forty years. They reminded him of a winter's sky above freshly fallen snow that two little dwarflings would press into snowballs and throw, of rumbling laughter, and of being hurled up to sit on broad shoulders. It was daunting to see eyes so much like Thorin's in a man, a mere strider; eyes that were those of a noble king who was destined for greatness; eyes that were proud and haunted at the same time, speaking of a burden the man was not yet willing to bear.

"Mithrandir." The man's voice was quiet. He bent his head towards Kíli in a slight bow and listened to what the wizard was explaining. His eyes darted to Kíli from time to time. Finally he nodded, his brows furrowed.

"I promised Lord Elrond to accompany his daughter from Lothlórien on her way back to Rivendell and ensure her safety. But I doubt she will agree to leave your company now, when so much is at stake. The fate of Middle Earth lies in the hands of the dwarves once more." He looked at Kíli. "Will you allow me and my elven companion the privilege of travelling with the one these noble Gondorian soldiers have chosen as their leader? All I can offer is my loyalty and my sword."

"That is more than enough." Kíli grinned. "If you can handle your sword, that is."

"It will suffice." The ranger's mouth twitched.


	28. Chapter 27

**XXVII.**

"Come to me," Kíli cooed. "Be a good bird. Come here."

The raven blinked.

"I need your service," he pleaded and stretched out his arm once again.

The raven shook his feathers and looked unimpressed.

Kíli cursed and searched his pockets knowing it was in vain. In the dungeons he had scoffed all the nuts and treats he usually carried to attract ravens.

"I know I have nothing to offer. But it is urgent. You must carry a message for me. Please?"

The raven croaked.

Kíli felt like strangling that damned bird – if only he could get a hold of it. He had been so happy to spot it in a tree and now it was just adding to his misery. He was drained, filthy, and aching all over. They had marched the whole day, climbed down steep mountainsides, and fought against orcs that had escaped the inferno and were now chasing them even in full daylight. It had been near dusk when they finally had left Ered Mithrin behind and had reached the foot of the mountains where Helge had left the horses. Kíli had wanted to continue their journey to Erebor on horseback immediately. But he knew they had to rest. The men were tired, some were wounded and needed to be tended to. Thak, exhausted and worn-out as he was, had stumbled and fallen several times until Nimir had started to walk at his side and had supported him. Kíli knew he himself wasn't any better off. Only the worry for Fíli kept him on his feet. So he had agreed to a few hours of sleep and some food for his company, although they couldn't take the risk of lighting fires to roast meat. The pursuing orcs seemed to have given up but he didn't want to draw any attention to their hastily set-up camp. The ranger, Helge and Tauriel had offered to keep watch in turns. Gandalf was now tending to the wounded. None of the injuries were severe, so Kíli had felt he could leave his men in the wizard's care and walk a little on his own.

His mind had been racing the whole time, putting together the pieces of information he had gathered in Lothlórien, Gondor, and the Grey Mountains. Sauron was on the rise again. But he wasn't going to strike from Mordor as anyone would expect. No matter what Kíli thought of Denethor, the Steward had managed to resist Mordor for many years. And he, together with his sons, would hold Gondor for many more years to come. It was strong, and unremittingly drove back Sauron's troops. Rohan and Lothlórien were equally strong. No, the danger was not coming from the South. The Darkness was stirring in the North, just as Lord Celeborn had said.

Maybe that had been the plan all along. The dragon had probably been in league with the Dark Lord and had held the Lonely Mountain for his return. When Thorin's company had driven Smaug out of the mountain, the Deceiver had been forced to act. Although he had not yet been able to take on corporal form, he still would have been victorious: His armies of orcs and goblins had come close to overrunning them on the battlefield, if it hadn't been for the truce forged between dwarves, elves, and men. Now, over forty years after the Lady Galadriel had expelled the Dark Lord, he seemed to be on the rise again. Celeborn had spoken of war. Blackness was about to sweep over Middle Earth. And for that, Erebor had to fall. According to Ulrug and Shruk, Kíli should have been the key to that. What better chance did the Dark Lord have than to seize Erebor from the inside and to subject the Prince whose Morgul scar reacted to Darkness? Dwoss merely had to feed him the poison.

Only – it hadn't worked like it should have.

But the danger wasn't over. Dwoss could try an attack on Fíli's life any time. Kíli could only pray that Dwalin and Katla would keep his brother safe.

His mind wandered to the others that had searched for him, those led by a black-bearded dwarf with an arrow-shaped scar. The dwarves Gandalf had told him about, the dwarves who had tortured an elf. Kíli just couldn't fathom who they were. Surely they must have been Grey Mountain dwarves sent by Ulrug to get him. He sighed. He had to let that line of thought drop. Ulrug was dead, and those dwarves didn't matter any more. All that mattered now was Fíli. He had to reach Erebor as quickly as he could or, better yet, send a message that would warn his brother of the danger he was in while Kíli was racing to the Lonely Mountain. To do this he needed the bloody raven. But the stupid bird ignored him. All it had done so far was look at him and cock its head.

Kíli cursed and scratched his neck where it was itching under the iron collar. Suddenly, the raven spread its wings and landed on his shoulder. Its claws pricked the skin under his tunic, its beak pecked at the iron collar.

"Shiny. Want."

Kíli laughed, relieved. "You can have that, gladly. Will you take a message to Erebor for me in exchange?"

The raven croaked in agreement.

"Tell the King, and only the King, that he is in danger. Tell him Dwoss is a traitor and that orcs want to invade Erebor. Tell him, I am on my way and that Gandalf is with me. I am Kíli, his brother. The Prince of Erebor. Durin's blood. Do you understand?"

The raven shook its head in confusion.

Of course. That had been too much information for a bird that had probably never delivered a message before. Kíli spoke again, slowly.

"Danger to the King. Tell him: a traitor. The Prince sent you. Tell that to the King."

The raven picked at the collar again. "Get shiny thing, and Groac will tell the King of Erebor."

"I am afraid we need Erebor's smiths to get it off. You'll get it at the Lonely Mountain."

The raven tilted its head. "Give me now."

"You take the message, and get paid at Erebor. I promise." He exposed the shackles around his wrists. "I put these on top. How about that?"

"No shiny things, no message." The raven spread its wings and headed for the tree again.

"No! Damn! Come back, stupid bird!"

Kíli cursed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head felt like exploding.

He was so exhausted and so anxious, he wished he could simply sit down and cry until Fíli came to comfort him, just like he had when they had been dwarflings. But they were long grown up now, and this time, Fíli needed him.

He inspected his shackles and the lock again, and knew he had no chance to get them off. Orcs made lousy weapons and armour but apparently they were experts when it came to chains and locks. Helge and Thak had tried their luck with the shackles, even Gandalf had put his knobbly stick to the lock and tried to bewitch it. But other than a faint glowing light igniting the end of the wooden staff nothing had happened. He had to get rid of the shackles and the collar to pay Groac. If only he still had his hair clasp to pick the lock, but the orcs had taken everything they thought had value. His fingers would have been too stiff anyway, swollen as they were from the much too tight shackles.

A slight rustling of dry leaves in the bushes at his back made the hair at his neck stand on end. Someone had been approaching soft-footedly and was now standing right behind him. His fingers closed around the pommel of his sword.

"Excuse me, Master dwarf, for startling you," a voice said. It sounded clear and beautiful like silver bells, and Kíli silently groaned. Just what he needed now.

"Why do you elves always have to sneak up on a person?" He growled and turned round, feeling his eyes go wide. If he had had the intention of shooing the intruder away, it was forgotten. Standing next to him, a sweet smile on her face, was probably the most beautiful elf-maid he had ever seen. Her long hair that was so black it shone almost blue in the fading light of day and her flowing, green cloak told him it was the elleth travelling with the Dúnedain ranger. Until then Kíli had only caught a glimpse of her from afar; her companion seemed to be determined to shield her from the eyes of others.

"Elves do not sneak." The corner of her cherry-red lips twitched. "My apologies, Master dwarf. I should have announced my presence to you, but I was not sure whether I should address you at all, or leave you to your brooding. Clearly you are seeking the solitude to grumble."

"Durin's balls," he muttered aghast. "I turned into my uncle."

Her eyes widened. Of course her elven ears had picked that up. "That is not a good thing?"

"No. Yes. No. Not the brooding and grumbling."

He fell silent. That was what he was doing most of the times now. Keeping to himself, brooding. That was not who he was. Who he used to be.

When had he lost himself like that? On the battlefield amongst the dead and dying? When Tauriel and he had been drifting apart like floes in the river's currents? When Fíli – I-will-break-anyone's-neck-who tries-to-hurt-you-little-brother-Fíli – had become cold and distant?

"Things that are lost can be found again, can they not?" The elf asked.

How much he hated that elven trait sometimes. That uncanny ability to read one's thoughts.

Still, he gave her a smile that he hoped would pass as charming and put a hand on his heart. "I am Kíli, son of Dís. At your service."

The raven-haired she-elf extended her slender, white hand. "You may call me Undómiel."

"Like the evening star? That name does you justice, my Lady Undómiel, for your beauty shines as bright and clear as the light of the stars."

"I heard dwarves could create things from stone and gems that exceed all beauty. I didn't know that they were masters of beautiful words as well that have the power to becharm."

"I wish that was true. Maybe then I would have more luck convincing the raven to deliver a message for me. That stubborn bird wants the orcs' irons but we can't get them off."

The elf-maid took a pin from her hair. "May I try?"

He nodded and held out his hand which she took in her delicate, white fingers that looked tiny compared to his.

"I have never met a dwarf before," she said while picking at the lock. "I have heard a lot of stories, though."

"I bet you have. About our hearts of stone and how we are not to be trusted, right?"

"Actually, it was more about food-fights, furniture set on fire, very loud singing, and dancing on tables."

"Huh?"

"A company of dwarves stayed at Imladris while I was spending my time at Lothlórien. They created quite a commotion. Lindir was devastated when he discovered that a pair of silver chandeliers was missing."

Kíli moaned. "We didn't behave well, even by dwarven standards. I apologise!"

"My father never liked those chandeliers. He was quite relieved to find them gone. And my brothers were impressed with all the pranks that some of the company played."

"Pranks? Oh, damn. You are speaking of tempering with the flutes. And sewing together Lindir's robes at the banquet. He had to hobble all the way to his chambers. But Fíli and I thought he was behaving much too much as though he had a stick up his… err." He cleared his throat.

"My brothers thought it was hilarious. Nearly as good as putting soap in the sacred fountain. The water was bubbly for weeks."

"Sacred… fountain…?" Kíli asked faintly. "We thought it was a bath."

"So I have been told. Naked dwarves poorly covered in foam running around and throwing sponges at each other. I heard some of the High Elves fainted at the sight."

"I remember," he chuckled. "Some of the elf maids quite liked the view, though. One or two of your lads as well. My brother and Mister Dwalin and I were worth a look back then."

"Not only then, it seems. She is looking at you all the time."

"Who?"

She didn't look up from her task. "You know who."

The lock sprang open, forestalling his answer.

"It is not easy to love someone who is different," she continued in her dark, melodious voice. "To accept the fact that we will never fully understand each other. But when two hearts, two souls, reach out and find each other, that which binds us to each other is far more important than that which separates us. It sometimes requires courage to see that. Courage and good faith liberate a heart, hesitation and doubt cripple it. "

The Lady Undómiel started to pick the lock of the other shackle and continued talking as if she was speaking to herself.

"It was at my father's house, on a young day in spring with petals dancing on a slight breeze, when I lost my heart to a man," she said. "I saw him, walking in the woods singing a part of the Lay of Lúthien. When he looked at me, our souls met and recognised each other. Our fae, we knew, would forever be incomplete without each other. Although he is a Dúnedain in whose veins elven blood is flowing, he is still mortal and was very young then. Both his mother and my father warned us that he was too young to understand the consequences of loving an elf."

With a soft click the other shackle opened. The elleth smiled, and Kíli wondered how she had achieved what neither Gandalf with his emphatic murmurings nor Helge or Thak with their grim strength had accomplished. She gestured him to sit down next to her and gently brushed aside his tangled hair to get to the collar's lock. Her eyes turned sorrowful when she took in the bruised and broken skin of his neck before she started to work on the collar. The occasional touch of her small fingers felt warm and comforting, she smelled of flowers and calmness, and he felt himself relax. Her voice was soft and ethereal like the fog of the falling night that was creeping up between the grass and trees when she continued her tale.

"Thirty years have passed since then. Thirty years that I spent as a student of my mother's mother in Lothlórien. But not a single day has turned into night without me thinking of him. Now we have met again, and Estel has grown into a man. The youthful passion that made him declare his love on that spring day has been replaced by wariness and doubt. I know he does not think himself worthy of me. He feels he has to overcome a curse he thinks is in his blood before he can ever dare to pledge himself to me. He wants to protect me, both from what he believes are his shortcomings and from the grief that waits for me once he will die."

Her fingers paused in her task, and her dark blue eyes settled on someone behind Kíli. He turned his head and spotted the ranger talking to Tauriel at the camp side. The strider? Really?

He was good at finding directions, he could detect footprints where others saw merely dry soil, he even could smell upcoming weather on the wind. But that was to be expected of a ranger. He was a good fighter, Kíli had to give him that. He probably wasn't even bad looking, if one liked the tall, dark, quiet type. But as far as Kíli could tell there was nothing special about him. What was it about that man that made the beautiful raven-haired elf look at him with so much love; that made Gandalf – Gandalf! – seem to seek his council; that made Tauriel listen to him attentively when she didn't even once, Kíli realised with a sting of jealousy, look at him. He set his jaw and turned back to Undómiel.

Her cherry red lips smiled at him softly as she continued picking the lock.

"He does not understand that he doesn't have to be without flaw for me to love him. He doesn't yet trust the nobleness of his blood. He does not see that his path is laid out for him and that he has the strength to walk it without being led astray."

The lock clicked but didn't open. She adjusted the pin and leaned closer. Her silken hair tickled his nose.

"Neither Estel nor my father understand that I made my choice on that spring day, thirty years ago. That I will choose a mortal life with him rather than just exist and wait for the last ship to sail."

"Choose a mortal life? Elves can do that?"

"My father is a half-elf. Ada lives the immortal life of an elf, his brother chose a mortal life. I can do the same if it is my wish. " She looked at him quickly. "Tauriel cannot. But she risked her life to save you. Estel had a hard time convincing her to allow him to tend to her arrow wound and broken ribs when we met at the River Gladden. She refused to wait until she was fully healed to continue her journey. She and the men accepted his offer to postpone our way to Imladris and to accompany them to Ered Mithrin. But when he volunteered to go into the mountain and search for you, she turned him down. As if she wanted to be the one to give her life, not anyone else should the need arise. And why shouldn't she?"

Her dark blue eyes locked into his. "You are precious to her. Maybe even more so because you will not live forever. The lifespan of a mortal is but a blink in the lifetime of an elf. For those Eldar who choose to truly love, the time shared with their meleth is worth every danger they are willing to embrace and every tear they will shed."

With a light click the collar opened and she removed it.

"The immortal love of an elf is the purest and strongest of all virtues and a torment at the same time. The choice is not made lightly. If you feel for her what I believe you feel, you must allow her to make such a choice."

She put the collar into his hand. "Pay the raven and send your message. Have faith, Kíli of Erebor, all will be well in good time."


	29. Chapter 28

**XXVIII.**

They could see the edge of Mirkwood when they set up their camp on the second night. Most of the men had already settled down on their bedrolls when Gandalf approached Kíli.

"It is time," the wizard said. "We will reach Erebor tomorrow. They will soon know we are coming. We should be prepared for whatever will be waiting for us."

"Groac should have delivered the message by now. Fíli probably already knows about Dwoss."

"Are you sure, Dwoss is the only enemy the sons of Durin have inside of Erebor?"

Kíli opened his mouth, but shut it again. No, he wasn't sure. How could he be? After all that had happened? After Fíli had nearly been killed by a dwarven arrow? Dwoss was no archer.

Gandalf went over to where Thak was sitting next to the Lady Undómiel. The elf-maid was picking at the lock of one of his shackles, and the dwarf, Kíli noticed with a slight grin, was watching her mesmerised. The ranger had settled down next to them and was smoking his pipe while his clear, blue eyes followed the graceful movements of the she-elf's fingers. Tauriel was at his side, sharpening her daggers and instructing Helge how to use the whetstone.

The wizard sat down with a grunt and made a show of filling and lighting his pipe. When the first smoke rings dissolved in the darkening sky, he let his watery, blue eyes wander over the group of elves, dwarves and men until they came to rest on the ranger. The man took the hint and spoke up.

"What is your plan once we arrive at Erebor, Kíli?"

"Plan?" He scratched the back of his head and grinned lopsidedly. "I'm going to grab Dwoss by the throat and haul him out of Erebor."

The ranger stared at him. "That is your plan?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"What if that agent didn't work on his own? What if he has aid?"

Thak shook his head. "The elders were very pleased that they had put a master poisoner inside of Erebor. There was a lot of talk about that. No one ever mentioned anybody else."

"There was Eyra," Gandalf said quietly, and Thak lowered his eyes. The Lady Undómiel put her small, white hand on his trembling one.

"She was forced to do what she did. Let her rest in peace." Kíli glowered at the wizard.

"That she was. And who is to say that others haven't been forced as well? Or that there might arise the need to pressurise someone else into working against you? You must consider the possibility of those agitating against you by their own free will. Judging by the past, not every dwarrow in Erebor agrees with your ways," Gandalf said. His eyes, as if by coincidence, met Tauriel's briefly before looking at Kíli. „There are those who believe Durin's folk should not mingle with other races. Who dislike it that one of the oldest and mightiest dwarven kingdoms is open to all. No small number of Erebor's inhabitants want to cut the bonds with Dale and the Woodland realm. There are many who would have preferred Daín Ironfoot on the throne."

Kíli gritted his teeth. "Do you not think I don't know? That Fíli isn't aware of the tightrope he is walking? We will deal with that."

"If you are already facing so many adversities, is it wise for you to arrive in the company of men?" Helge looked worried. "Do not get me wrong, Commander. We will follow wherever you lead us. But we do not want to put you in any danger, you and your brother."

Kíli felt a smile on his lips, and he reached out to pat the man's arm. "I will need you when the time comes."

"So you have thought about the possibility of encountering unforeseen dangers at Erebor?" The ranger looked at Kíli. There was a fine net of laughter lines around his eyes. "You do have a plan?"

"I'm not as stupid as I look. But if I know one thing, it is that plans usually are crossed. Far more important than having an elaborate scheme is to know who is on my side once we enter Erebor. I trust Tauriel. Helge, my men. Thak. Even her." He gave the dark-haired elf-maid a curt nod and turned his gaze back to the ranger. "What about you, strider? Can I trust you?"

"I am on your side in your fight against Mordor's henchmen."

"You mean the orcs?" Thak massaged his wrists that the Lady Undómiel had freed from the cuffs now. "They may still want to attack the mountain, probably now more than ever after what happened to Lord Ulrug."

"They plan to take the mountain, we fight them. Just like we always did." Kíli shrugged. "There are most likely not many orcs left after the fire anyway. Their minds will be set on other things."

"You may be surprised," Gandalf said in a low voice. "The eye is set on Erebor."

"Eye?" Kíli's throat was suddenly dry. He remembered the fiery eye of his poison-induced hallucinations. "Are you talking about Sauron?"

"What do you know about Sauron?" Gandalf watched him intently now. "Speak."

"What everybody knows. That he was expelled by the Lady of the Light forty years ago. That he is about to come back."

"I do not think everybody knows that. Or agrees with that." Gandalf frowned. "Saruman the White, the head of our order, doesn't believe it. Even the Lady Galadriel could not convince him that the Deceiver is back. What makes you think he is?"

"Lord Celeborn said so." Kíli avoided the wizard's eyes. "And I thought I felt something when… It came with the Morgul poison."

Gandalf put his wrinkly hand on his forearm. "You must tell us what happened. It is vital that we know what we will be facing once we enter Erebor. What do you remember?"

"Pain." He shrugged, not wanting Tauriel to know the extent of his suffering.

"You said you felt something. A presence? Did he talk to you in your head?" The ranger's blue eyes bore into his, and Kíli felt himself nod.

"I heard a voice talking in Black Speech. It ordered me to do terrible things."

Gandalf's face went ashen. "A voice? You never told me anything about a voice before."

"You never asked."

Gandalf rolled his eyes. "The stubbornness of dwarves! What did the voice say, Kíli?"

"It told me to kill. Fíli. The little ones. To take over Erebor." Kíli shuddered as he remembered the words with sudden clarity. "It told me to break his neck. To spill his blood. It was disgusting having to listen to that in my own head."

"Did you ever want to do anything of what it told you? Be honest, Kíli. It is of the utmost importance that you are."

"No. It tried to tempt me with the crown, I think, but I don't want that stupid thing. And even if I did – I could never harm Fíli or his little ones."

"You were poisoned more than once – did it get worse each time?"

Kíli nodded. "The voice was more urgent every time. The commands became louder and more impatient."

"Did you find it harder to resist?"

"No. It just became more appalling every time. What it ordered, what I saw."

"What did you see?" The ranger's voice was quiet.

"I saw myself on Erebor's throne," Kíli admitted reluctantly. „I saw Fynn with blood in his hair. It made me sick."

„Anything else?"

"There was always that eye, watching me. A terrible eye, staring at me out of licking flames as if wanting to consume me."

The man exchanged a look with Gandalf. "It is as we feared. He is truly back. He reached out to Kíli. But why he failed to turn the dwarf into a wraith I do not know. What about you, Gandalf?"

The wizard stroked his beard and smiled gently while shaking his head. "I have known you for many years now, Kíli. But you still manage to surprise me. Why you of all people resisted the voice of he who made greater men slaves to his will, I have no idea. It matters not. It is far more important what you did than to know how you did it. That may remain a mystery."

"The mystery of which you speak, Mithrandir, is none," the Lady Undómiel spoke up in her quiet, gentle voice. "When he tried to overpower Kíli, Sauron encountered a power that is too great and too mighty for him to grasp."

"Why is that?" Gandalf's eyes rested on the black-haired she-elf.

She smiled kindly. "The force that protects Kíli, the Dark One has never known. He cannot overpower it."

"What is it?" The ranger frowned at her.

"Love."

Gandalf coughed small puffs of smoke. "Love?"

Undómiel's smile deepened. "The most powerful force of all. Older than time, greater than the sky above, warmer than the sun, and stronger than any rock."

"But… How?"

The elf-maid looked at Tauriel who lifted her chin as if in defiance.

"It was you who healed his Morgul wound. You who shared her fae to save him."

"You did what?" The ranger gasped. "You, an elf, shared your fae with a dwarf? That is unheard of!"

"Shut up, strider," Kíli snapped.

Gandalf lifted a bushy brow.

"She did more than that," Undómiel said gently.

"Tell us what you did," Gandalf demanded. "Tell us how you healed him back then in Laketown. You never said."

"I cannot explain it. I am no healer, as you know. But when Bofur came back with Athelas I simply felt I had to try."

"You used Athelas?" The ranger's blue eyes lay on Tauriel wonderingly. "Do you have royal blood?"

"I am Silvan," she answered in a pressed voice. The muscle in her jaw twitched. "A lowly elf."

"You are not lowly," Kíli growled. He felt a strong urge to punch the man in the face for making her feel at unease.

"Of course you aren't," the strider agreed quickly. "I never intended to suggest otherwise. But Athelas reveals its full power solely in the hands of kings and queens."

"Is that why the weed is called Kingsfoil?" Helge looked baffled. "Will it only work when it is used by someone with royal blood in their veins? Is that the reason it is fed to pigs in Gondor, because we don't have a king and it won't work otherwise?"

"Bullocks. You simply need to have some knowledge of healing and it will mend any wound."

"Not a wound like this," the wizard corrected Kíli. "Oín said you were almost gone from the Morgul poison. He told me he didn't think you would survive. How did you heal him, Tauriel?"

The ranger smiled slightly. "You shared you fae."

"I needed the light to bring him back. As a beacon to guide him in the darkness."

"Your fae freed him from Sauron's shadowy grip, but it did not heal him. The Morgul poison was in his blood. He still would have died," Gandalf insisted.

She tilted her head in agreement. "I asked the Valar to protect him. I offered them anything if only they would save him."

"Anything?" Gandalf eyebrows rose so high they were dangerously close to touch the brim of his floppy hat.

Her voice was calm when she answered. "The thought that Kíli would perish from a Morgul wound was unbearable to me. I promised them they could take anything they wanted from me in exchange for Kíli's life. I was ready to pay the price."

"The Valar accepted your offer," the Lady Undómiel stated quietly.

"They have been very gracious to me." Tauriel returned the High elf's gaze without blinking, and the raven-haired elleth nodded with quiet grace.

"His fate and yours are intertwined."

Kíli listened to their words, to the Lady Undómiel's revelations, Gandalf's queries, but had eyes only for Tauriel. After all those years he understood for the first time what she had truly done for him. The sacrifice she had been willing to make.

"So this is why…?" The ranger gestured from Tauriel to the dwarf. "You married him because of what happened then? Because of the bond that had been created between you?"

"No," the red-haired she-elf answered calmly. "I married him because I love him."

"This love protects him like a shield," the Lady Undómiel explained. "Sauron cannot defeat it. He does not understand something as selfless and powerful as love. He cannot touch Kíli, he has no means to make him slave to his will. Kíli is safe because of Tauriel's love."

Kíli's eyes locked with green ones. As if from far away he heard Gandalf clear his throat.

"We should go to sleep. We can discuss the subtleties of Kíli's plan tomorrow while we ride. Come, come, Thak, Helge. Up and good-night."

From the corner of his eyes, Kíli saw the group get up and leave, but he couldn't break eye-contact with Tauriel.

"You protected me all those years," he finally said. "And not only me. By shielding me from Sauron's influence, you protected Fíli. Erebor."

"I didn't know what I was doing back then. All I knew was that I mustn't let you die."

"You were willing to give anything to save me. You didn't even know me then! All we had done was talk."

"It was a lot more, and you know it. We shared our hopes, our dreams. You let me see into your heart. I knew enough of you to know that under no circumstances must a pure soul like yours fall under the spell of Morgul poison."

"So you offered the Valar anything they possible could take from you?"

"It was an easy decision."

"Your love for me has been so strong, so selfless. And I?" He ruffled his shaggy hair. "I repaid you poorly."

She raised her eyebrows. "How so?"

"There is a saying amongst my people: A dwarf that chooses to take a wife must guard her as his greatest treasure*. I have done that. I tried to keep you close to me. I guarded you like a treasure." He smiled. "Mind you, that is exactly what you are. You are my heart's treasure, my most precious. But you are a Silvan elf, you are like the forest itself, not to be tamed nor possessed."

"It never felt as though you wanted that." She smiled. "Much. You are unlike most of your people. But you still are a dwarf. You – just like me – were brought up with certain beliefs that are not easy to overcome. I understand that. I always did."

"I know. But I never fully understood you. Maybe I never will. But what I understand now is that you can't change who you are. And I don't want you to." He took her hand and pressed it against his lips. "All I want is you to be happy," he murmured between kissing her fingertips, her knuckles, her palm.

"Happy?"

"Peaceful. Calm. Tranquil. Whatever. Whatever you want. I will not make that mistake again that I made all those past years. You are Silvan. You are wild and free, and I wanted you to stop being that. I wanted you to stay with me, deep under a mountain, for the rest of my life. I never thought about asking what you wanted."

"But you did. You asked me if I wanted to marry you. You asked me if I wanted to share my life with you."

"And you changed your mind."

"I didn't. Not about you. Never about you."

"I know." He kissed every light freckle on her nose, the soft skin of her eyelids. "Until now I didn't understand that you could love me but could not be with me. I see now that it is not necessarily the same thing. I know now that elves feel strongly if they allow themselves to feel and that that is very frightening to them. I don't want you to suffer from all those feelings you told me about and that frighten you. That is not what I want for you."

He brushed aside a strand of copper red hair. "You remember when I told you about the fire moon? About all the places I had seen?"

She smiled slightly. "You were boasting."

He couldn't help a grin. "Only a little. Wanted to impress you. But most of all I wanted you to see that the world was a lot bigger than Thranduil's Woodland realm. That there were a lot of things out there for you to discover. I wanted you to pick up your bow and go. Live your own life. I still want you to."

He stroked her cheek. "You are Amralímê," he whispered. "Nothing will ever change that. That's why I release you from your promise to the Valar. They bound your life to mine, I undo that bind. Your life does not belong to me, only to you. And if you feel you cannot live it together with me, as my wife, I will let you go. You will be free by both elven and dwarven law."

"A bond like this can be terminated?"

"My mother has been pestering me for years to declare our relation invalid. I always refused. But if it's your wish, I will do so."

He struggled to keep his voice steady and knew that she had noticed how much it took to keep his composure, but it didn't matter. It was the right thing to do. Back then she had been willing to give anything for his life, now he would do the same.

Tears were in her eyes when she finally spoke in a raw voice.

"Thank you for this. Thank you for giving me my freedom."

She leaned her forehead against his, their breaths mingled, their lashes caressed each other's faces. He felt her heart flutter against his. Then she pressed her lips on his in a calm kiss.

"Mela en' coiamin," she whispered. "You are the love of my life. Now more than ever. I will not part from you. I will not surrender to doubt or fear. I am a Silvan elf. I am stronger than this. We are. Together."

* * *

*For the geeks among you: Khuzd tada bijebî âysîthi mud oshmâkhî dhi zurkur ughvashâhu (A dwarf that chooses to take a wife must guard her as his greatest treasure)


	30. Chapter 29

**XXIX.**

Kíli woke up, his face wet with tears. His fingers went to his throat and felt nothing but torn skin. Only then he remembered that the Lady Undómiel had managed to remove the iron collar, and that Thak and he were free from the gruesome reminders of their captivity. The visible reminders at least. He ran his fingers through his hair, knowing his stay with the orcs had added another variety to his set of nightmares.

Kíli rubbed his eyes and got up. He knew he would not be able to sleep any more this night. The moon was still high in the sky, so he gathered it couldn't be more than one or two bells after midnight. They had agreed they would set off again at dawn. If they made good speed they would make it to the Lonely Mountain before nightfall.

Silently he tiptoed through the camp, careful not to wake the sleepers. The ranger was on watch, and if the man had noticed the dwarf get up and walk about, he didn't show it. Someone else was awake, Kíli realised suddenly, when a soft voice addressed him and made him jump slightly.

"Why do you not sleep, Master dwarf? Dawn is several hours away."

"You don't sleep either." He gave the Lady Undómiel a smile.

"Elves do not need to sleep."

"I know. But you can if you choose to."

"This is not the time nor place."

"Agreed. May I join you?"

She made an inviting gesture and he sat down next to her.

"What were you doing in all the time when the rest of the camp was snoring?"

"Wishing for less advanced hearing." She smiled. "Thinking of this and that."

"Home? Your parents?"

"My mother sailed into the West. It's only Ada and my brothers now."

"I am very sorry."

"Thank you. But it was a long time ago, I was very young when she left us."

Absentmindedly, the raven-haired she-elf played with a silver pendant on her chest. The bright stone caught Kíli's eye.

"What is that?"

She took off the silver necklace and handed it over. It was breathtaking, finely wrought silver crafted around one of the clearest white gems he had seen in a very long time. His fingers, looking ridiculously thick and sturdy (not to mention dirty) on the fragile and shiny pendant, traced the intricate lines and felt the silver relax under his caressing touch. He had always liked the playful and organic shapes elven goldsmiths decorated gold and silver with, so very different from the straight yet painfully complicated patterns dwarven masters used. Each was art and beauty in its own way, but Kíli secretly preferred elvish jewellery that stressed the gems' natural beauty, instead of taming it.

"It is beautiful."

"The light of the evening star," the maiden said. "It was gifted to me by my mother on the day I was born. It has guided me through dark hours ever since."

He looked up into her clear blue eyes that were dark and deep like a mountain lake, yet tranquil and warm. He wondered whether she still needed the light embedded in the silver necklace or whether she had long since turned into that kind of light herself. It certainly radiated from her in a way he had seen only once before when he had met Lord Celeborn.

"Maybe you should give it to the man you love. The evening star might help him find his way." With a shrug and a quick smile he returned the pendant. "Just a thought."

She took her pendant and weighed it between her slender fingers for some time before looking at him again with a sweet smile on her cherry-red lips.

"She went to greet the trees when it was Estel's turn to keep watch. Over there."

Kíli's eyes followed hers to where several oak trees were standing at the side of their camp. His dwarven eyes could make out a slim figure between the trunks, and he nodded his thanks before he got up and approached Tauriel.

She was walking between the tall trees, her hands tasting the trunks and caressing the dying leaves of autumn. The silver light of the moon made her eyes sparkle when she turned round to look at him.

"You are not resting?"

"Nah. Too much on my mind. What about you? What are you doing here?"

Her hand stroked the rough bark gently. "They came from the Greenwood, many centuries ago, as small acorns. They are lonely without their brothers and sisters. They miss the forest's reassuring embrace."

"Do you?"

"Sometimes."

"You could go there. Meet your people, see your king. Maybe Legolas will be there."

"I do not think so. I parted from Legolas at Minas Tirith in late spring. He continued his travels with the Dúnedain to meet Estel. They are good friends."

"Come on. There's no way the fine Mirkwood prince can be friends with a strider."

"He never cared about status. You know that."

"No, I don't. He called me names and looked at me as if I was something nasty sticking to his boot."

"He had other reasons for his bad behaviour."

"Yeah, yeah." He really didn't want to discuss the Mirkwood princeling's broken heart. His own heart was whispering to him that Tauriel had been meeting his rival only recently. "You never told me you had seen him."

"I didn't think it mattered. He was with a group of rangers I met on my travels. Despite everything that happened, he was very attentive and caring."

"I bet he was." Kíli couldn't help a small growl.

Her eyebrows rose. "Are you jealous?"

"Of course I am."

"You have no reason to be."

"I know. Still jealous."

"Is that part of guarding a wife like a treasure?"

"Probably." He grinned lopsidedly. "But I think it's more because I still can't believe that you really decided to stay with me. I'm still waiting for you to realise that you made a mistake and change your mind."

She looked at him, out of her star-like eyes, the silver moon light caressed her face and turned it into something eternal.

"Come closer, please." Her voice was quiet and strangely serious.

He stepped up to her, eyes questioningly on hers.

Her fingers slid into his hair, parted several strands and started to braid them. His breath caught when he realised what she was about to do. She was performing the elven ritual of veryanwë, of renewing the wedding vows.

"Amin mela lle," she said. "I love you, now and then, tomorrow and until the end of days. I will be with you, and you will be a part of me. Our hearts find completion in each other, our fae is one. You are my husband, my love, the light of my life. I will watch over you like the stars in the sky, I will support you like the rock under your feet. I will not leave you until death will tear us apart. I braid this promise into your hair, I embed my love in my words. Amin mela lle."

Then she kissed him, slowly, deeply. It was a strange feeling of coming home, of being safe and whole. Just when he felt desire awakening, she stepped back. Her gaze was still serious and a little concerned.

"How are you feeling? Truly?"

He sighed. "Still on edge. Weary. Scared. I can't wait to reach Erebor and see Fíli. I need to know he is safe." He put his hand on her neck and drew her close again, not to kiss her, but to lean his forehead against hers. "But much better. Thanks to you. Thank you for renewing our bond. Thank you for your love and trust."

"Sleep with me."

He grinned. "Nothing I'd rather do. But here? With all the men just a stone's throw away?"

She chuckled slightly. "No. I meant, real sleep. When was the last time you slept without nightmares?"

"Does being unconscious count?"

"No."

"I don't know. Minas Tirith, probably. In your bed."

She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and stroke his ear lobe with her fingertips.

"Then sleep with me. We are going to leave at dawn and you will need your strength and a clear head when we reach Erebor. You need to rest."

"You would share my bedroll? For everyone to see?"

"We are wife and husband, are we not?"

He smiled. "Yes, we are."

She took his hand and led him towards the camp. This was new. At Minas Tirith she had been anxious to keep their relationship a secret. A warm feeling erupted in his chest when he saw her straighten her shoulders and raise her head proudly. When the Lady Undómiel looked at their intertwined fingers, a small possessive grin blossomed at the corner of Tauriel's mouth and her hand tightened around his. The other elf maiden's lips parted in a smile. Her blue eyes glided towards the ranger, but the man was busy staring into the night. If it had not been for his tightly clenched jaw, one could have easily believed he hadn't even realised that dwarf and elf had returned to the camp hand in hand like the lovers they were.

They lay down on his bedroll, snuggled closely together, and Kíli was sure he wasn't going to sleep at all. How could he close his eyes and miss the sight of her creamy skin glowing like Mithril in the moonlight? How could he not stroke her cheek and curl her soft hair around his finger until dawn was breaking? The heat of her body was slowly warming his cold flesh, her fingers brushed over his forehead soothingly and traced the scar in his eyebrow that one of Fíli's throwing knives had left behind when Fíli had tried to hit an apple sitting on his baby brother's head. He closed his eyes and enjoyed her touch, breathed in her scent until there was nothing else but her in his head; no memories of the dungeons, the fights, of Fíli's broken body that he had seen in Galadriel's mirror. No cares, no fear, just her reassuring presence, and then nothing but darkness and warmth.

It was cold when he stirred again, his fingers searched for the warm body next to him and failed to find it. His nose sniffed something herbal, and he opened his eyes in confusion. Had he been sleeping?

"Dawn is breaking," Tauriel's voice said softly. She was sitting next to him and offered him a steaming mug. "I made some tea from herbs and berries."

He blinked and shook his head to chase away the sleepiness that made him feel like one big jelly. The tea tasted spicy and bitter and woke him up in a single sip.

Tauriel was looking at him with a slight frown.

"What?"

She pushed away his hair and touched his bruised neck.

"I can make some salve to help you heal. You suffered a lot at the hands of the orcs."

"Just cuts and bruises. Nothing severe."

Her fingers glided over his shoulder that was aching on this cold and damp morning. "Don't pretend."

"It's fine. Don't make a fuss."

"I'm worried."

He caught her hand and held it in his.

"You always are. But you don't have to pamper me. It may not always look like it but I am capable of watching out for myself."

"I know that."

He grinned. "But you are still prepared to cut anybody down who looks at me the wrong way?"

She blushed. "It's not that I think you cannot defend yourself. I know you can. But you have a talent for attracting trouble. Will you promise to be a little less reckless in he future?"

His grin widened. "No."

"Please. I am afraid something will happen to you."

"Just as I am afraid something will happen to you. You may be an immortal elf but you can be killed."

"That is different."

"How so?"

She cast down her eyes. "It is because of what I offered to the Valar. I was ready to pay any price if only you would survive. I have been afraid that they would take you ever since."

He nearly dropped the mug and hot tea slopped over his skin.

"What?"

"In Laketown I offered them anything they could possibly want from me if only they would spare your life then. What if they claim it now, as payment?"

"They wouldn't do such a thing. They are the Valar! Why should they want my death after helping to save me? That doesn't make any sense."

"The Valar are not like we are. Their actions often are inexplicable to us. They are spirits; they do not have a beating heart, they do not feel like we do. Tragedy, or sorrow, even death mean nothing to them."

"They allowed Melkor into this world, is that what troubles you, now that Sauron is back? That they could stop him but don't?"

"It is more than that. Elves usually find comfort in the knowledge that the Valar are watching over them. But they are not."

"Don't say that."

"When I was growing up with Thranduil, I never understood his hatred for the Valar. I never understood why he broke with them, why he refused to let his people journey to Valinor. Now that I could sail when my time has come, I am no longer sure I want to take the ship and be forever at their mercy." She bit her lip. "Did you know that Thranduil led an elven army against Sauron in the Battle of Dagorland? That he saw his father slaughtered and most of his people perish? His wife? Did you know that he fought the dragon that attacked her? That he attacked the great drake all on his own, with only his sword in his hand? He couldn't save her, of course. She was dead when he reached her. He was severely injured, but still he refused to draw back. He kept fighting until the dragon let go of her mutilated body. That was how they found him. Bleeding, marked by dragon fire, holding her dead body. He didn't cry, he didn't wail, he didn't say a single word. Apparently, it took decades for him to speak again. And he never again spoke about her."

"How do you know all that?" Kíli's voice was strangely hoarse.

"Legolas told me. He had no idea what had happened to his mother, only that she died in battle. Lord Elrond told him only recently, when he stayed at Imladris with Estel." She looked at him. "Why should Legolas have to suffer? How can the Valar allow such a tragedy to happen? Why did they take his mother from him and his father? Why did they just watch Thranduil become cold and empty like a shell? Why do they punish lovers like this?"

"I don't think they did. Anybody who fights in battle can be killed." He stumbled over the thought that popped up in his mind. "Is that why you always think you have to rescue me?"

"I cannot allow them to take you away from me."

He laughed. "Tauriel, you cannot fight the Valar!"

"Why not?"

He put the mug down. "You are crazy, and I love you for that. But you are a warrior. You know that death lurks on the battlefield. You know that even the best fighters can be killed. That is the way it is. It is not the doing of the Valar. And I am sure they won't claim the life of someone you love because you asked for their help once."

"They've done it once already. They took our son." Her voice broke. "They took him before his first breath. How can I believe in their guidance and goodness if they allow an innocent child to die even before he had a chance to live?" A tear rolled down her cheek. "I know I promised to pay any price. But that? How can they do that to me? To us? To our son?"

He reached up and took her face in both of his hands. "They didn't. My love, they didn't."

He thought of the lifeless, featherlight form of his much-too-small baby son in his arms. He had been beautiful with tiny fingers, a snub nose and a shock of dark curls that Kíli had burrowed his face in while whispering words of love the dead child could not hear. Tauriel had sobbed quietly, curled up in a tight ball, her back turned towards him. It had been the first time he hadn't known what to say to her. Weeks had turned into months and Tauriel had still wept without making a sound, and Kíli had watched her numbly, the silence between them suffocating.

He drew a painful breath. "That didn't happen because you made a bargain with the Valar. Oín told us the chances of getting children were slim, with races so different like ours. Meleth nín, please. Do not torment yourself like that." He blinked the tears away to look into her troubled eyes, to reassure her of the truth in his words, to make her believe him. It had been agonising enough when their baby had been stillborn. It would never cease to hurt. But to know that she believed it had happened because of something selfless she had done years ago, was unbearable. "Love, please. It was a tragedy, the worst thing that could ever have happened. But it was no one's fault."

"I have always been so afraid they would do it again. Let someone die who I love. How could I be with you when I had to fear for you all the time?"

He drew her into his embrace and held her close. "Why did you never tell me?"

"How could I? It was my offer to the Valar. It was your life I had bargained for. How could I possibly tell you?"

"Listen to me, love. Bad things just happen sometimes, and nobody bears the blame. Not me, and certainly not you. Not even the Valar. Loved ones die, and there's nothing we can do but try to live with it."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, I do."

It hadn't been their fault. Everything else that had happened after, the silence, the desperation, the alienation – yes, that had been their doing. But not this.

He thought of Thorin all of a sudden, and he was surprised that he didn't feel the suffocating grip of guilt that usually went along with his memories. And for the first time in over forty years he knew that he wasn't to blame for his uncle's death. Not he, not Fíli. Not even Thorin.

"It is hard to live with a loss like that without having someone to blame. I want you to know that I am here for you. I will watch over you like the stars in the sky, I will support you like the rock under your feet." He kissed her temple, and felt her smile. "It doesn't always have to be you against the world. I will be at your side whenever you need me. You do not have to bear everything on your own. It's the two of us, together."

"Together," she repeated in a whisper.

"And if you still want to fight the Valar, Durin's ass, why not? I'm in. For you, I will do even that. I am a dwarf, and I have an old score to settle with them anyway."

She chuckled lightly and kissed his neck. "Thank you."

"We can take on anyone and anything if only we stick together. We must be true to each other. Not telling each other things because we think we have to protect each other from the truth, that is wrong. I know that now, and I apologise for doing that. I owed you the truth about what happened to me. And you should have told me about your fears a lot sooner."

She disentangled herself from his embrace. "You are right. There is something I need to tell you. That I should have told you for some time now."

A shadow fell over them, and Kíli looked up to see the wizard standing next to them, fully dressed in his grey robes and travelling cloak, his hat on his tousled, grey hair, his lit pipe in his mouth.

"That will have to wait," Gandalf said to Tauriel. „It is time to go."

* * *

 **A/N** I've been thinking for some time now: With some characters from "Lord of the Rings" appearing, is my story a crossover? But I came to the conclusion that it's not. It is the same timeline. When Kíli visits Minas Tirith, it is 20 years before Boromir becomes part of the fellowship. He and his brother are teenagers then. Twenty years before the events of LotR, Estel returns to Imladris and meets Arwen again. It is not unlikely that they meet Kili and his company on their journey to Rivendell. I simply like the idea that Kili and Tauriel influence all those people's fates. Just a little.


	31. Chapter 30

**So sorry for not updating in such a long while! Work kept me ridiculously busy the last weeks. The little free time I had I spent riding my horses – until my mare fell and buried me under her. N** **ow I am at home, sporting four broken ribs and more bruises than I can count. (The horse is fine.) And since I can't really sleep, I have loads of free time to write...**

 **XXX.**

"What is it?" Kíli brought his horse close to Tauriel's. „What did you want to tell me?"

"Not here. It is something between me and you. I will tell you when this is over and we have some time to ourselves."

"It sounded important."

"It is."

"Is it something good? Mahal knows I could use some good news. Or is it bad? Is that the reason you're not telling?"

"No, it's good. At least I hope it is. It could turn out bad."

He sighed in frustration. "You're not helping when you are being so elvish."

"I am an elf."

He chuckled. "Yes. I noticed. Pointy ears."

"No facial hair."

"Lucky me. Never liked lasses with a bigger beard than mine." He grinned. "Come on, at least give me a hint. You know how much I hate to wait."

She smiled. "I always liked that about you. Your curiosity. You are like a little boy."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I am not sure being called a boy by the woman you love is something to massage the male ego."

"Your ego doesn't need any more massaging."

"No? I think it does. Other parts of me as well." He winked and flashed her a sassy smile.

She shook her head at his silliness and spurred her horse into a canter. A lump of dirt was hurled up by the animal's hooves and landed right in his face. Deliberate, no doubt.

"Hey!" He called after her, laughing. "I was referring to my shoulders! Awfully tense!"

He let his horse fall into a gallop to catch up.

"A boy," she muttered. "You are a boy."

"Just what you like."

She looked at him and there was love in her eyes.

"I was full of sadness and desperation only moments ago, and now I have to laugh about your folly. It is like when first we met. The situation was grim, you were taken prisoner, but you were joking and trying to make me smile. You make every effort to make me happy; you don't care whether it makes you look foolish as long as you lighten up my heart. You always seem to know what to say or what to do to make me joyful again, to take away doubt and fear and even pain."

"Not always."

She stretched out her hand and he took it.

"No," she agreed. "Not always. Sometimes, I think grief is necessary to know the depth of love. Sometimes doubt can be the path to certainty. And there would be no courage without fear." She looked at him. "Too elvish?"

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. "I love you. All the more because you think me better than I am. I am nothing but a silly dwarf."

"Hear, hear." Gandalf approached on his big, white horse that he was riding without saddle or bridle. "I never would have thought to hear such a truth out of your own mouth."

"Have you got anything of importance to say, wizard? Or is it your sole purpose in life to make mine as miserable as possible?"

Gandalf furrowed his impressive grey brows. "Your life, my silly dwarven friend, is at a crossroads once again. And whether it will be miserable or no is in your own hands. Why I am constantly watching over you and giving you good pieces of advice that you don't value a bit is beyond my comprehension. I have a strange weakness for you that makes me ignore your insolent comments." The brows knitted together in a single bushy line. "But do not mistake my patience for triviality. Listen to my words and remember them well."

"Yes, alright. Spit it out, will you?"

A sudden thunderstorm whirled up, and his mare shied. Kíli had to use all his strength to keep her steady. When he patted her neck soothingly, he looked up at Gandalf who towered over him, unnaturally tall and dark, and reminded him unnervingly of the raging stone giants they had encountered so many years ago in the Misty Mountains. Gandalf's voice thundered. "Listen to me!"

Kíli ducked.

"Listen to me," the wizard repeated, gently this time. "You think you are going home, but it may not be your home anymore. You think you can single out your enemies but be careful not to be the one who ends up being cornered."

"What do you know? What shall I expect when I enter Erebor?"

"The unexpected." Gandalf smiled, and his horse turned round to join the rest of their company. He looked back over his shoulder. "Have faith in the strength of Durin's blood."

"Oh, dammit," Kíli cursed. "Why isn't he just telling me what he knows? If he knows anything at all and isn't just assuming an air of importance."

"Mithrandir is highly esteemed by the elves. He has the gift of foresight," Tauriel said, a frown on her face. "You should pay him more respect. He is an Istari after all."

Kíli snorted. "He is a smelly old man who is continuously poking his big nose into things, always talks in cryptic words and vanishes when one needs him most. Yes, he is good with firecrackers and he can do that scary towery-thing from just now, but foresight? Nah. If he had, our quest would not have ended in a terrible battle and many deaths."

"Do you not think everybody should be responsible for their own fates? Do you really want someone else to decide for you, to fight your battles for you?"

He sighed. "You're right, I don't."

"Someone is coming out of the woods," she suddenly said. "Several men on horseback. A heavily laden cart."

"Men in Mirkwood? Are you sure they are no elves?"

She cast him a glance. "Elves wouldn't make such a noise. And the woodland elves never ventured this far north, Thranduil forbade it. I doubt that that has changed."

She drew her bow, while Kíli signalled his men to gather at his side. Helge steered his horse next to his and unsheathed his sword.

"What is it, Commander?"

"Tauriel heard men approaching from Mirkwood."

"How many?" The ranger looked at Tauriel. "What do your elven ears tell you?"

"No more than five. But I can hear the clanking of weapons and rattling of a cart."

"Here they come," the strider muttered and drew his sword.

The five riders that left the forest now stopped dead in their tracks. The cart bumped to a stop, and the stack of pelts on it swayed dangerously.

"Greetings!" Kíli called out to them and smiled while he signalled his men to lower their weapons. "Your hunt has been successful, I see."

"What's it to you?"

"Just an observation. Winter will be upon us in a few moons, being able to bring home fur and meat is a good thing."

"What do you want, dwarf? I've seen you before. You're from Erebor."

"That's right. I remember you too. You're from Dale. I didn't know you had an agreement with Thranduil to go hunting in his woods. Plenty of deer and boar, I see."

The man laughed bitterly. "You find that funny, dwarf?"

"What?" Kíli was at a loss. Why were the Dalesmen acting so hostile?

"He just wants to make you confess we were poaching in Mirkwood, Jonfrid. Haven't you seen the wood-elf in his company?"

Jonfrid tightened the grip around his hunting spear, and Ruyak lifted his sword threateningly. As though this had been the signal everybody had been waiting for, all men drew their weapons.

"No! Stop!" Kíli yelled and brought his mare between the two factions. The ranger joined him and together they managed to separate the men before any harm was done.

"What's got into you?"

"Let me guess," one of the huntsmen snarled. "Could it be the ridiculous amount of taxes the dwarves are making us pay? That they have closed all trading routes? The hungry children? The need to go hunting in King Thranduil's woods at the risk of our lives if Dale doesn't want to starve?"

"What?" Kíli stared at the man. "You need to make up a better excuse for poaching. You know as well as I that there are no taxes. And Fíli would never allow any child to suffer. You're lucky we are in a hurry or I would make you answer for your lies."

"With fire and blade, no doubt."

"Just make way and don't bother us further." Kíli urged his horse forward and the ranger caught up with him.

"I thought the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor lived in peace?"

"We do. I have no idea what possessed them to make up such absurd stories. Being caught red-handed, I suppose."

He looked back over his shoulder at Tauriel's hard face. He knew that she couldn't bear the sight of so many forest beasts dead at the hands of poachers. Deep inside her the Captain of the Guard wanted to hold the men responsible for their deeds. And she was right. They should have been detained and at least handed over to King Bain if not Thranduil himself. But there were more pressing matters now.

"The men of Dale," the ranger continued in his slow and quiet voice, „do they know?"

"Know what?"

The man smiled. A ray of sunlight caressed his weather-beaten face and let the finely woven silver pendant on his chest sparkle. "That you protect them."

Kíli's eyes rested briefly on the pendant that he had last seen in the Lady Undómiel's hands, before he answered. "Maybe. Maybe not. What difference does it make?"

"A lot – to some. Safety usually has its price."

"It is given freely. For us it is an honour to provide it for those with whom we fought side by side in what you call The Battle of The Five Armies. The men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood are more than our allies, they are friends."

They rode in silence for a while until the man spoke again. "Sauron is preparing for one last battle. It is likely that he will strike from the Grey Mountains and Mount Gundabad once more. The Lonely Mountain is the sole obstacle he and his troops will have to overcome if they want to invade Middle Earth. If Erebor falls, he will conquer Dale, New Esgaroth, Mirkwood. Maybe even the whole of Rhovanion."

"Erebor will hold. We will do whatever we can to protect our friends and keep the free lands of Middle Earth safe."

"Then we can count ourselves lucky." The ranger shot Kíli a look. "I have met very few dwarves on my travels and spoken to even fewer, for they kept mostly to themselves. Never would I have thought that they are so honourable, generous and warm-hearted. There is much for me to learn about dwarves, it seems."

"Nah. Most of us are greedy drunkards with more hairs growing out of our ears than some men have on their heads. Good singing-voices, though."

"I see that there is one more quality to add: You have a dubious sense of humour."

"And you are not as bad as I thought, strider."

"Do not call him that." Gandalf joined them and glared at Kíli. "You don't know who you are talking to."

The ranger grinned. "Actually, I like the name. It fits me, don't you think? And if I want to continue wandering Middle Earth as I have done in the past thirty years, I need a name that doesn't raise any suspicions. Gandalf, from now on you may call me Strider."

Gandalf coughed, and Kíli snickered.

"You should put your silly mind to more pressing matters," Gandalf grumbled when Kíli didn't stop. "We are approaching the Lonely Mountain, in case you hadn't noticed. Ah. I knew that would silence you."

"It wasn't that." Kili pulled at the reins and dismounted to get a better look at a black lump he had glimpsed behind some boulders. His heart sank when he picked up the dead raven.

"It's Groac."

"Those arrows are not orcish," Strider observed.

"Nor were they fired by men," Gandalf said.

"They are from Erebor," Kíli confirmed. "The raven was killed by dwarves."

"Before or after he delivered your warning to the King? That is the question."

Kíli looked at Gandalf. "Is it? I think we both know the answer to that."

He stroked the dead bird's ruffled feathers. Groac had not been the most cooperative of birds, but he hadn't deserved to die like this. Putting the little body down and murmuring a silent farewell, Kíli quickly weighed his options.

It was almost certain that his message had been intercepted and that Dwoss knew he had been exposed. As much as he hated to hide from his enemies, it would be foolish to march through the Main Gate and announce that Kíli, Prince of Erebor, was back.

"Thak and I will enter the mountain alone and in disguise. We need to find out how the land lies."

Tauriel's fingers twitched nearly imperceptibly towards her daggers. But she remained silent.

"As much as I would like to have fierce fighters like you with me," his eyes briefly met Tauriel's, "you cannot accompany us. We mustn't draw any attention, we don't know what we are dealing with. Thak and I can disappear into the crowd; a company of men and elves will attract attention. I must check on Fíli first, then we will deal with Dwoss. If I am not back at this hour tomorrow, come after me. Use the Secret Door."

"Your caution is admirable, alas, your timing is not." Gandalf looked at him sadly. "You may have thought about bringing Thrór's key along when we left, but it won't be of much use. It is nearly a full moon to Durin's Day. Who knows what could happen to you until then. We need to reach you earlier, shouldn't you be back within the stipulated time. We have no other option than to enter Erebor by force. I shall speak to Bain and Thranduil about sending warriors to our aid."

Kíli blinked. Then he smiled. "That won't be necessary for now. You don't have to wait for Durin's Day, and you don't need the key of Thrór to unlock the door."

"Oh?" Gandalf looked stupefied, and Kíli's grin widened.

"Tauriel can enter the Mountain any time she wishes. The Secret Door will open at her touch."

"It still does?" Her eyes were full of wonder.

He shrugged. "Yeah. I thought that when… if you came back you would want to use our door, to be safe from prying eyes."

"Your door?" Gandalf looked from one to the other.

"We needed to get out of the mountain every now and then. So I asked Bofur to conjure the stone. The Secret Door recognises and responds solely to Tauriel's touch or mine."

"And it is still operational?"

"It works fine. I used it a lot during those past years; whenever I felt the need to leave unnoticed."

"Are you sure that stone-spellcaster of yours has not revealed your secret to anyone?" The ranger looked worried.

"No one knows about that door except the three of us. Not even Fíli."

Gandalf smiled. "Bofur is a loyal friend to Durin's line. And a master with stone. If he put a spell on that door, even I would have trouble to break or even detect it – and I am proud to say that I have a special talent for opening secret doors that are secured by magic. A little hobby of mine." He stroke his beard and beamed. "That, Kíli, my friend, was a clever scheme."

"Are we in agreement about the plan then?"

Thak flashed him a grim smile between broken teeth. "We are. I want to make him pay, this potions master who killed Eyra."

Kíli looked at Tauriel. "You will give me a day to sort things out before you go in yourself? No head-over-heels rescue mission?"

Her jaw tensed but she nodded.

"What do you want us to do, Commander?" Helge asked.

"You wait for my return together with the rest. There are caves near the pine grove at the riverbank where you can find shelter. They are too small for the horses though," he added, remembering the cave he and Katla had hidden in from the orcs. "They will have to stay in the forest."

"What if you don't come back? Do we join the Lady Tauriel?"

"It's up to her. She will be the one in command as soon as Thak and I are gone. But if you enter the mountain and will have to fight, you must know that Erebor's soldiers rank among the best in all dwarven kingdoms. You won't stand a chance. Don't risk an open fight, try to outwit them instead. Erebor has many hidden passages, dark corridors and secret tunnels. Tauriel knows them well. Lay traps, block the main routes with collapsing rocks, Bofur will help you with that. You even can spread fire from the furnaces."

"Understood."

"And please stop the dog from following me."

Helge grinned and patted Lucky's head. "Aye, Commander."

Kíli pulled the hood of his blue travel cloak down over his face and praised the fact that he hadn't found a chance to shave his beard off yet. Nobody who didn't look too closely would recognise him. Thak and he looked like travellers who had had a hard journey and were now seeking their luck at Erebor. Dozens like them came to the Lonely Mountain every day.

He put a hand on Thak's shoulder and turned to leave when Tauriel's voice called out to him.

"Kíli!"

He looked back at her. "I won't be reckless."

"Don't change who you are." She smiled. "Inik-dê, a melamin."

He nodded. "I promise."

He looked back at her until Thak and he were almost out of sight.

The Lonely Mountain was ahead of them, beautiful and strong, just as he remembered, its peak glistening with the first snow of the upcoming winter. Silently they marched through green meadows and harvested fields. So much had changed since he had first come to Erebor forty years ago. What once had been known as the desolation of Smaug was now fertile farm land nourishing the men of Dale. Dwarves were no farmers, they traded copper or weapons for grain, corn and potatoes. It was a deal that benefited both parties and had led to a traditional trading feast with a harvest dance and loads of roast meat and even more ale. Which in turn had resulted in a few dwarven-human weddings and offspring. _Taxes._ He snorted. What a ridiculous accusation.

When they approached the mountainside, Thak pointed to the gigantic stone warriors on either side of the wall.

"What's that?"

"The kings of old are guarding the Main Gate. Impressive, huh? My forefathers had a bit of a size issue."

"No, not that. The rocks blocking the road."

Kíli squinted. Thak was right. The road that followed the little stream into the mountain through the Main Gate, the very road that was usually swarming with travellers, merchants, Dalesmen and Ereborians, was empty. Giant boulders blocked the path, and the Main Gate was closed. A rockfall? That hadn't happened for over thirty years, Erebor's walls that had been weakened by dragonfire and Troll attacks had long since been secured. He spotted heavily armed guards on the parapet and although he couldn't make out a single archer amongst them, the Lonely Mountain seemed to be armed to the teeth. What in Durin's name was going on? Had the huntsmen told the truth after all?

Kíli quickened his pace, and they ran the last part of the way to the mountain's side and up the dangerously steep stairway towards the Secret Door. He pressed his hand against the rough stone and spoke the word. When the stone creaked and swung open, the last golden rays of the setting sun fell into the dark and narrow passage.

Kíli looked at Thak who watched open-mouthed.

"Welcome to Erebor."

He entered the mountain and let his hands rest on the cool and trusted stone to greet it. Thak slipped in after him and together they closed the door and made their way down until they emerged in a dark corner and entered the big corridor that led to the Great Hall.

Thak's eyes followed the marble columns decorated with runes and gems, he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the ceiling that was shedding greenish light through intricate stained glasswork.

"This is unbelievable," he stuttered, "beauty and art beyond compare. I cannot believe what my eyes see."

"I cannot believe what my eyes don't see," Kíli murmured. "Where is everyone? It is much too quiet. Too empty. At this time of day, the corridor should be swarming with dwarves. Merchants, stone masons, tinkers, miners, soldiers. Families. There should be laughter, and singing, the smell of food. Not… nothing."

Several armed guards appeared suddenly and halted at either of their sides. Kíli quickly pulled his hood deeper down.

"What are you doing here? It's near curfew. Everybody who is still hanging around and endangering a public place will be arrested and punished. Be off."

"Curfew?" Kíli asked dumbstruck, but was silenced by Thak elbowing him in the ribs.

"Yes, sir." Thak bowed. "We forgot the time. Thank you for reminding us." He shoved Kíli forwards.

"Curfew?" Kíli repeated totally aghast. "And what are these bullies doing patrolling Erebor? I've never seen them before." He swore. "What has Dwoss done to Erebor? By Durin's beard, I will break his neck."

"Yes, yes, break his neck and every bone in his body if it pleases you, but let's get out of here. I know how these arresting squads operate. It's the same at home. Believe me, you don't want to be punished by them."

Kíli nodded his agreement and, using the sparsely frequented passages and small staircases he was so very well acquainted with that he could vanish from a public road or hall any time he needed to, he managed to get them to the Royal Wing undetected. Just as he was wondering how they would ever get past the Royal Guard, he realised that the large doors looked abandoned. He wasn't sure whether to worry even more or be grateful. He pushed open the doors and was knocked off his feet instantly by someone throwing themselves at him. He fell on his back, knobbly knees poked into his stomach, and a high-pitched voice screamed in his ear.

"Unca!"

"Fynn?"

Small, bony arms twined around his neck and made him choke.

"Unca Kee!"

"Fynn, let go. You're suffocating me."

He freed himself from the boy's grip. Fynn's blue eyes were unnaturally wide and full of tears, his lower lip was trembling.

"Unca," he whispered.

Kíli held his small face between his hands, his thumbs stroke he dwarfling's cheeks and dried the tears.

"It's alright, Fynn. I'm here. But what has happened while I was gone? Where is your Da? Your mum? Granny?"

Fynn pointed behind his back. "It's evening, we must stay here. For our own protection."

"Protection?"

"Unca Dwoss says, Erebor is no longer safe for us. He wantses us to leave."

"What does your father say to that, boy?" Thak asked, and Fynn flinched at the sight of his mutilated face. He shrugged.

"Answer the question, Fynn. Thak is a good friend, we can trust him."

"I don't know," the boy slowly said. "Da hasn't been talking to us for a long time. He is not playing with us any more. Mum says he is too sick."

"Fynn! Come here! Who are you talking to? Get away from these two."

At the sound of the Queen's voice, Kíli looked up and was aghast at her pale and haggard appearance. Her radiant beauty was buried under a mask of worry and sorrow.

He got up, took a step in her direction and was shocked that she recoiled.

"Hrynn. It's me."

She froze. Then she flung herself into his arms, sobs wracking her small body.

"Kíli! Thank Mahal you're back!"


	32. Chapter 31

**XXXI.**

"Yes, I'm back." He stroke her back soothingly. "What is going on here? How is Fíli?"

She straightened and dried her tears on her sleeve. "Come with me, quickly. You mustn't be seen!"

As Hrynn hastened back to the King's Chambers, Fynn looked up at Thak, his face thoughtful at first and then turning resolute. He took the scary-looking stranger by the hand and dragged him along. Hrynn carefully closed the big doors to the King's chambers behind them and listened anxiously.

"They patrol the Royal Wing from time to time. For our safety." Her voice was like acid.

"Who does?"

"So-called surveillance squads. They keep the halls and corridors free from dwarves at night-time, they prohibit gatherings and see to it that everybody stay in their quarters and do as they are told. The Council has established a whole set of new rules. There's no more communal Dinner at the Great Hall, Consultation has been cancelled, all relations to the Woodland Realm, Dale and New Esgaroth have been terminated. Even dwarves who ask admittance to Erebor are sent away. The Lonely Mountain no longer welcomes strangers."

"The Council did all this?"

"After Balin left, the Council just follows Dwoss' orders. That is how I see it."

"Balin is gone?"

"He and his men left for Khazad-dûm a fortnight ago."

"Shit." He cursed. "Under no circumstances must Balin enter Khazad-dûm, it is still populated by orcs. I need to send a raven with a message immediately!"

"There are no more ravens, Kíli. Those who survived the purge left Erebor."

Purge? Arresting squads patrolling Erebor? All relations cut off? Kíli felt an icy coldness creep up his spine.

"What is going on here? Why doesn't Fíli put an end to this?"

"When Balin and his men left for Khazad-dûm, Fíli felt we needed to fill up the ranks. Dwoss engaged soldiers who claimed to be from Dain's army. But we have enough dwarrows at Erebor with relatives in the Iron Hills to know that this is an outright lie."

"But if you know, why…"

Hrynn took a deep breath that sounded like a sob.

"Your mother, Dwalin and I tried to tell him, to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen. He accused us of not caring about Erebor and her safety. He agreed with the Council that profound changes to Erebor's security had to be made. He left it to Dwoss to install whatever means he thought necessary."

"Curfew? Surveillance squads? Random arrests and punishments?"

"Those were established one after the other. We didn't realise what was happening at first. They called it precautionary measures. And who would vote against those after there had been repeated attacks on Fíli's life?"

"What? Is he alright?"

"No, Kíli, he is not." She grabbed his sleeve when he tried to rush into the royal couple's bedchamber. "He is not wounded, should you think that. As much as I dislike those new soldiers, they are good. They managed to catch the assassins every time before they could carry out their deeds. All he suffered so far are minor injuries. But those were enough to justify the implementation of strict rules and prohibitions. Even those who distrust Dwoss and question his motives couldn't argue against them. Especially when it was Fíli himself who launched the new laws. Every change has been made in his name."

"But why…?"

"I can't explain. You must see for yourself." The grip on his arm tightened. "He will listen to you."

"We didn't exactly part on good terms."

"If someone can get through to him, it is you."

"What if he gives you away? It is too dangerous," Thak intervened.

"He won't. He is my brother."

Thak shook his head. "Siblings betraying each other, children selling their parents – it happens all the time."

"I don't care. I must talk to him. Where is he?"

"In his study," Hrynn offered. "He spends nearly all his time there, working. He hasn't been to our quarters for weeks now. I am not sure he even remembers that he has a family."

"I'll go with you and keep watch," Thak decided.

Kíli got up, and Hrynn grabbed his arm once again. "Help him. Please."

Kíli nodded, and together with Thak made his way through the dimly lit halls and passageways of Erebor. It was daunting to see the usually so busy roads and corridors devoid of life, but it made it easier for them to detect and bypass the patrols whose steps they could hear even from afar.

Opposite the King's Study, Kíli gestured to the statue of Thrain I. guarding the entrance.

"Wait there," he instructed before opening the doors and entering.

He stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fell upon the lone figure sitting at the big desk that was buried under various parchments and scrolls. The light of the chandeliers flickered and let shadows dance over Fíli's face when he lifted his head. He looked pale and worn out, the hand holding the quill trembled slightly.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? I shall call the guards."

"Fíli, it's me."

The quill dropped out of Fíli's hand.

"Kíli? Is that really you?" He laughed suddenly. "I didn't recognise you with that beard!"

"Wicked, huh?"

"It suits you. There will be no lass who won't be over the moon with it."

"Yeah, there is." He grinned. "Luckily I don't like it either. It itches. And it covers too much of my pretty face."

A smile lightened up Fíli's drawn features. "Smug as ever." He waved Kíli nearer. "Tell me, where have you been?"

"Here and there. How are you, Fee? What is happening around here?"

"Happening?" Fíli's blue eyes looked at him astounded. "What do you mean, happening?"

"A lot of changes have been made to Erebor. Those patrols, foreign soldiers."

"Oh, yes. These. Our ranks are thinned out, now that Balin and his men have left. We suffered a lot of attacks since then. It is as if the orcs knew that Erebor had trouble to defend itself. It didn't help to close all of Erebor's entrances and shut down every route leading to the Lonely Mountain. We needed to find new soldiers. Luckily, Dwoss knew that several divisions from the Iron Hills were seeking new employment. Of course, I had to raise taxes to be able to pay them."

"Taxes?" Kíli echoed tonelessly. "Erebor's vaults are overflowing with Mithril, gold, silver, and gems."

"Why should I part with that?" Fíli hissed. "The treasure belongs to me and me alone! My mother's grandfather and his fathers amassed these riches; Thorin died for them. Why should I pay some obscure warriors with gold for which the line of Durin has given their blood and life for centuries?"

Fíli's eyes were almost black in the flickering light of the candles and glittered with something that Kíli had seen in Thorin's eyes all those years ago when he had desperately tried to reason with his uncle in favour of the lake-men. He shuddered. Gold-sickness? Impossible. Not Fíli.

"Why did you have to take strangers into our service in the first place? The cavalry surely must be operational by now. And what about the archers?"

"Erebor has no need for archers. A bow is no fitting weapon for a dwarf. We are no elves, curse them."

"You never spoke like that before."

"I should have. All that smarming over those supercilious, pointy-eared oafs needed to stop long ago. We are dwarrows and we should remember our traditions and our virtues. That's why I removed the archers from the forces and appointed them to work in the mines. Hard labour deep underground, that is dwarvish."

"Right," Kíli said slowly, and his brother smiled. "I knew you would understand. And I want you to know that I am not angry."

"Not… angry?"

Fíli put both his hands on his. "It was my fault, really. I understand now that I expected far too much of you. Building a whole army out of nothing, setting up security measures for a kingdom as big as Erebor, supervising the forces and recruiting new cadets – that is far too much for one single dwarf. Especially one who is as callow and easily distracted as you."

"What?"

"I understand that you ran away because you were ashamed that your efforts were insufficient. You should have talked to me, Kee, I am your brother!"

"I… What?"

"No harm done, nadadith. Dwoss sorted everything out. We have a whole new security system. One that works well." He sighed. "He has been a real help, you know. It is too much, far too much that I have to do. So many decisions, so much responsibility. Everybody whose advice has been dear to me, everybody close to me, has left me. You. Balin, Dwalin, mum. Dwoss is the only friend I have left."

"Dawlin is gone? Mother?"

"She expressed the wish to return to the Blue Mountains."

"You're kidding. Mum might have missed Ered Luin, but Erebor is her home! She would rather chop off her foot than to leave."

"She was lonely. Unhappy. She got irritable. So I asked Dwalin to escort her back to Ered Luin. She will feel a lot better in the Blue Mountains."

"You sent her away?"

"For her own good." Fíli rubbed his eyes. "It was my duty. I have to watch out for my subjects. Being king is the hardest thing, Kíli. You have to make decisions for the welfare of your people, even if it breaks your heart."

"What are you talking about?"

Fíli just smiled sadly and shook his head. "Nah. You mustn't bother yourself with things like that. Tell me where you have been, what you've done. Did you have a good time?"

"Err?"

Fíli grinned conspiratorially. "I know you like the Dancing Rat. Or should I say: You like the lass serving the ale?" He laughed at Kíli's dumbstruck face. "Don't worry, I am not going to give you away. But really, that has to stop. One day, little brother, you will be Prince of Erebor and can't be fooling around with barmaids. Human barmaids at that."

Kíli stared at his brother and searched for the familiar sparkle in Fíli's eyes, the little twitch at the corner of his mouth that would tell him Fíli was playing a prank on him. But all he could see were deep lines in Fíli's face that hadn't been there five moons ago and the blotches under his eyes that were blueish-brown and looked like bruises.

"That was fifty years ago." Kíli's voice was barely a whisper.

"What was?" Fíli pressed his fingertips against his temples. "Mahal, I am tired."

He started rummaging around his desk until he found a small flask and took a sip. He corked it again and his features started to relax.

"That's better."

"What is this?" Kíli reached for the little flask, but Fíli put it out of reach.

"Medicine. The bloody headache just won't go away. This helps at least a little."

"Maybe you should get some sleep instead. You look awful."

Fíli shook his head. "Can't. See for yourself, I am drowning in paperwork. I have to read and to sign all these before morning. Security enhancements, duty roosters, payment rolls, contracts, tax collections, outstanding interest, detention lists, means of inquisition."

Kíli gasped. "Torture?"

"Of course not. Dwoss would never do such a barbaric thing. His methods are far more subtle, he assured me of that. If we want Erebor free from all the filth, we have no other option but to take drastic measures from time to time. We've been too careless in the past, too trusting. Bad people lodged themselves right under our noses, Kíli. Some pose as your friends while in truth they are your worst enemies." Fíli's face crumbled. "Never would I have suspected Nori of any ill-doing."

"Don't tell me Nori's little hobby is bothering you now? It's no big deal, just some kind of finger exercise. You know that he doesn't even want to keep what he steals. We used to return everything to their rightful owners when we were dwarflings."

"He tried to kill me."

"Nori?" The thought was so absurd, it called for a hearty laugh. But it got stuck in Kíli's throat and made him choke.

"The guards caught him only days ago when he was snooping around in this very room, no doubt waiting for me to slit my throat. Nori didn't even bother to deny anything."

"Where is he? You didn't kill him, did you?"

"Of course not. It's Nori, for Mahal's sake. I put him in the dungeons. Even Nori can't break out of Erebor's jail. But I need to decide what to do with all those convicts. There are not many cells left. I am afraid I will have to bring back hanging." He rubbed his temples. „Sometimes I am so tired of all this. Why should I have to sacrifice my life for a mountain? For a kingdom I had never before set a foot into, that I knew nothing about? That I don't even care about? You cannot imagine how much I wanted to switch places with Dwalin and be the one to return to Ered Luin with mum. What am I doing here anyway? I am no king. Thorin never prepared me properly for that task. I am just grateful that Dwoss is sorting things out for me. I don't know what I would do without him. Now that you have left, I am utterly alone."

"I am here, Fee. I am back. You don't need Dwoss. We will sort this out together."

Fíli looked at him sadly. "How I wish that that would be true. I dreamt so often that you would return to me. But this is all it is. A dream. I know you are not real."

He straightened the parchment he had been working on and continued reading. "I am so tired of all this. So terribly tired," he murmured as if to himself.

"Fee! I am no dream." Kíli put a hand on his brother's arm. "See? I am really here!"

Fíli looked up. "Please don't do this to me. Don't torture me like this."

"Durin's ass, Fíli!" He pinched him so hard that Fíli flinched. "Do you believe me now?"

"I am not falling for this again. I cannot afford to think you are here. I know you left me. I know there is no reason for you to come back. I know you cannot forgive me."

"Of course I can. We are fine."

"Nothing is fine." A tear rolled down Fíli's pale cheek. "Everything is lost."

The door to the King's Study was yanked open, and Thak poked his head in.

"We need to leave. The guards are coming!"

Kíli bit his lip.

"Now!" The door was slammed shut.

Kíli gripped his brother's arms. "Fíli. I will be back. I promise. Don't tell anyone that I was here!"

Fíli looked at him in wonder. "But you're not."

Thak grabbed Kíli's arm when he left the Study. "What happened in there? You look as though you'd seen a ghost!"

"I have."

He allowed Thak to take his arm and steer him away from the Study into a dimly-lit passageway. Thak turned left here and right there, sometimes he stopped and looked around, only to turn back the way they had come. Kíli followed him like a puppet. His head was strangely empty, and his limbs were numb. He heard the sound of an advancing patrol but couldn't care less.

What had happened to Fíli?

Thak shoved him up a staircase and over the gigantic bridge that crossed Erebor's Main Hall. The stomping of heavy boots came nearer, and Thak froze on the spot.

"They are coming our way," he hissed. "Help me! I have no idea where to go!"

Kíli forced himself to focus. The Main Hall was far too spacious and offered little chance to hide. If they went back over the bridge, they could make it to Nain's passage from where numerous small paths and stairways led to the private quarters. The Royal Treasury wasn't far, either. But all of these were probably heavily guarded.

"Where to?" There was panic in Thak's voice, and he was frantically looking left and right.

"This way." Kíli pulled him along and shoved him through a gigantic door. Just as he closed it, the first of the heavily armed soldiers came into sight.

"They've seen us!" Thak whispered.

Kíli dragged him deeper inside the dark room that was smelling strongly. He headed for the munching sounds.

"Durin's ass! What was that?" Thak jumped when he collided with something. With an indignant oink a big, bristled creature gave him a nudge.

"Pigs," Kíli whispered.

"Are we in the stables?"

"Hall of Memory. These pigs have a special taste for very old and precious tapestries. We tried to relocate them to the stables several times but they always managed to break out and come back. The desolation they caused every time was far worse than that of Smaug. So we simply left them here. The Hall is ruined anyway. The stench will never go away. Duck!"

The doors opened and two soldiers with lanterns entered.

"We know you are in here. We saw you."

"Come out and we will put in a good word for you."

Kíli and Thak remained silent, and the soldier cursed.

"This is where the pigs are. I hate those pigs."

The other one laughed. "You're trembling like an elf! They are nothing but cutlets on legs."

"They've got teeth as long as my forearm."

"Afraid of a piggie!"

"Don't tell me you're not. Everyone is. Why do you think they made us go in here and resumed patrol without us? Because they want to be as far away from these ill-tempered beasts as possible."

"Can't be helped. Hush, ugly beast! Get out of my way!"

The pigs protested and squealed, and Kíli and Thak crouched deeper down.

The soldiers shooed the animals out of their way. They would spot the hiding dwarves any time now.

Slowly Kíli pulled out the small dagger from inside his jerkin and pricked the nearest pig. It squeaked and broke into a trot towards the soldiers. His knife found another hock; and with a squeal the pig broke into a run. Thak shooed the others in the same direction, and with a yelp the soldiers were buried under a mass of pink bodies. Thak and Kíli slammed the doors shut behind them.

"Saved by piglets," Thak panted and laughed.

"War pigs with a vicious temper. It is common belief that Daín Ironfoot sent them not so much as a present but as some kind of revenge. He was so close to being crowned king of Erebor, with Thorin dead and everything. No one thought Fíli would recover quickly enough to claim the throne. But they hadn't reckoned with Fíli's grim determination to carry out Thorin's wish. He would have crawled to his coronation on all fours and, from what I was told, it was close."

"You weren't there?"

"Ah. No." Kíli rubbed his chest. His wounds hadn't even closed then, and the healers had warned him he would most likely bleed to death should he try to get up. He had missed the very one day he had always been looking forward to. The day he had been dreaming about since Thorin had told him he was Erebor's king in exile and Kíli's big brother was his heir. The day Fíli was crowned king, Kíli hadn't spent at his side, bursting with pride, as he had always imagined. He had been in bed, crying like a dwarfling. He had chased away the healers who had tried to calm him down and ease his laboured breathing; he even had yelled at Tauriel to bloody leave him alone. Only when Fíli had limped into the healer's tent, his multiple broken leg supported by a crutch, the vicious cut that marred his handsome face stitched up, had Kíli stopped his raging. Fíli had started to laugh at his little brother's teary face, he had laughed so hard that the healers had to change the dressing on his not yet fully healed back.

Kíli pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn. Fíli would know what to do. Fíli always knew.

But not this time. This time, everything was up to him. His brother, his family, Erebor; they all needed him.

What in Mahal's name was he going to do?

"Nori!"

"What?"

"I need to see Nori!"

"Who is that? Wait!" Thak tried to catch up as Kíli hastened towards the lower levels.

Kíli skidded into a halt and hid in the shadows when he entrance of the dungeons came into sight. Two armed soldiers stood watch.

Thak slipped into the alcove next to him.

"I must go to the dungeons and find an old friend," Kíli explained. "I think he might know something. Most likely it was the reason they put him in a cell."

"I'm going to distract the guards." Thak took one deep breath and ran towards the soldiers.

"Help! There is an uprising! They are breaking the curfew!" He shouted. "You need to stifle the insurrection!"

The soldiers looked at each other. And followed Thak, still screaming blue murder, where he was heading, far away from Kíli's hiding place. Quickly Kíli entered the passage down to the dungeons, hoping he wouldn't encounter more guards and be forced to hide. The dungeons were the part of Erebor he was the least acquainted with. The torture chambers had been out of use for centuries, and the dungeons had last been occupied when Thrór in his gold-sick mind had suspected each and everyone wanting to steal from him. Kíli had never liked to think about that special part of his family history; and the knowledge that his forefathers had imprisoned their own people, men and elves down here, gave him the shivers.

He tiptoed from cell to cell, careful to avoid being seen by their inmates, until, deep down, he detected Nori behind massive iron bars. The tri-braided beard had come undone, he had a black eye, and his usually elaborately combed hair looked filthy.

"Kíli? Is that you?"

"Aye. How are you?"

"Never better. Erebor's dungeons are first-class compared to the stinky holes I've been put in before. Remember Thranduil's cells? Filled over their capacities." He grinned. "Of course you remember. Two or three of us had to share, but you got a single room with a spectacular view and the pretty guard."

"Everybody got their just desert." Kíli flashed Nori a quick smile. "Tell me why they put you here."

Nori raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you heard? Apparently I tried an attack on your brother's life."

"Yeah. I heard. Now, tell me the truth. What did you really want in Fíli's room? And why didn't you even try to defend yourself?"

"To what end? The minute the guards caught me in the King's Study, I was in for it. I'd been questioning them far too often. Snooped around too much. Raised too many dwarves against the new laws. I've done a lot of thinking since you left Erebor." Nori smirked. "I know. Me! Thinking!"

"Stranger things have happened. Although, admittedly, not many."

"I just couldn't understand what had happened. I've known the two of you since you were in diapers. Fíli and you always were joined at the hip. And no matter what mischief you had done, he always defended you. One without the other was impossible; he never would have left you. You know that better than I do, he stayed with you in Laketown when you were sick. When he banned you, that just wasn't right."

"He was angry. And rightfully so."

"Still. It wasn't Fíli. Just like what he is doing now isn't him. Establishing all those laws and restrictions. Approving of Dwoss turning Erebor into a bulwark of dwarven purity. And tell you what? It started a long time ago, only we didn't notice."

He wrapped his fingers around the bars and looked at Kíli. "When the Council threw you out? When he grounded you? I bet it started then. And he is acting more and more strangely. He is little more than Dwoss' puppet now. I just can't get a grip on how that bastard does it. Fíli has strong convictions. Moral values." Nori scratched his neck. "Not that I know a lot about these. But I know Fíli. And I know he would never waver. I think they're blackmailing him or something."

"Is that what you were looking for in Fíli's Study? Evidence?"

"I thought that maybe I could find some kind of instructions, something used as leverage. Proof that he was not acting on his own free will. I was stupid enough to think the Council would believe me then. But it was the Council who accused me of trying to murder my King. As if I would ever even lay so much as a finger on Fíli!"

"Did you find something?"

"That's what puzzles me. He has about a million papers on his desk, but I couldn't find anything! As far as I could see they were merely boring administrative stuff. I checked them for hidden writing but found none. I even tested the ink and the quill he uses for poison. That would be a way to temper with his mind. But they were clean."

"What did you say?"

"There was nothing. Nil!"

"No. You said poison." Kíli slapped his forehead. "Of course. He is being poisoned. Dwoss is a master potion-maker, surely that's the way he is brain-washing Fíli, with the help of poison! And I think I know how he is doing it." He reached through the bars. "Nori, hang in there. I promise to get you out!"

"You better. Don't want to test Erebor's gallows."

"It won't come to that."

"Kíli, wait!" Nori called after him just as he was about to leave. "Among those papers was something that caught my eye."

"What?"

"A very official looking parchment. With Erebor's sigil and Dwoss' signature on it and a dotted line for Fíli to sign. I remember that I thought how strange it was that Fíli had thrown something like that in the bin."

"What was it?"

"No idea. You know that I am no good at reading, and it had a lot of words and lines. But I remember what was written on top, only it makes no sense to me. Do you know what ‚abdicate' means?"

"What?"

"Abdi…"

"I heard. It means Dwoss is reaching for the throne."


	33. Chapter 32

Thank you everybody,

for your get well wishes and amazing reviews. And guess what: It's done! Well, almost. The next two chapters are written, two more are yet to come, and then the journey will be over. Phew!

* * *

 **XXXII.**

Thak was waiting for him at the top of the stairs when Kíli left the dungeons.

"Where are the guards?"

The other dwarf grinned. "Had an unfortunate accident. That high bridge across the Main Hall is terribly slippery. Did you find your friend?"

Kíli nodded. "And thanks to him I know now that Dwoss plans to dethrone Fíli."

Thak ground his teeth audibly. "Why don't we just find that rat and break his neck? That was your suggestion not so long ago, and I'm warming up to the idea. Problem solved."

"Unfortunately, we can't. There are already too many axes at his service in Erebor. They would most likely create a bloodbath among those who are still faithful to the Line of Durin. I cannot risk that."

"What are we going to do then?"

"Gather all the information we can get. Rally those who will fight with us. And be ready to strike when our enforcements join us."

Thak shrugged. "Let's go." Then he froze. "Damn. Someone is coming. I was hoping it would take a little longer, but a fall like this makes a lot of noise in a vast room, especially with all that armour."

They retreated behind the great doors that marked the entrance to the dungeons. A salt-and-pepper bearded dwarf passed them by without even a glance in their direction. He was whistling a merry tune. The hood of his yellow cloak only partly covered the remnants of an orc axe lodged in his skull.

"Bifur," Kíli whispered flabbergasted.

The dwarf stopped dead in his tracks, grunted delightedly and yanked the doors fully open to pull Kíli into a hug.

"What in Durin's name are you doing here at this time of night? Everybody is made to stay at their quarters by force of arms, but you are strolling along the corridors as though it was the most natural thing! What about the arresting squads?"

Bifur made a dismissive gesture. "Ozirum menu seleku. Khazad tumul. Bundushatur." He grinned and tapped a fingertip against his forehead.

"I'll be damned." Kíli stared at Bifur, aghast.

"What? What is he saying?" Thak demanded to know. "It's Khuzdul, but it doesn't make any sense! Don't tell me you understand a word of this nonsense?"

"You don't?" Only then Kíli remembered that not many people understood what Bifur was saying. Only four dwarves, to be precise: Bofur and Bombur, and Fili and Kili who practically grew up on his knees. The only other person who seemed to understand every single word the war-disabled dwarf was uttering, for some strange reason, was Gandalf the Grey.

"Who is this lunatic?"

"He is Bifur, and he is not a lunatic. Well, yeah, he is. But he is not mad. Although, from what he told me, everyone around here believes him to be. That's why they let him walk around Erebor at night and day, because they don't take him seriously. Stupid buggers."

Bifur's face became serious.

"Remenu, Kíli?"

"Count on it. I just need to figure some things out first." He kneaded his lower lip. "Can you do something for me?"

Bifur growled his agreement.

"Find Bofur. Tell him he has to get the miners ready, especially those who can use a bow. We shall need them tomorrow."

Bifur gave him the thumbs-up and left.

Thak's eyes followed Bifur who hastened towards the other end of the passage, every now and then a hop in his steps. He shook his head and forced his gaze back to Kíli.

"What can I do?"

"Tell me all you know about those arresting squads. About every scheme you recognise from Ered Mithrin, everything Dwoss has established here."

"Easy," Thak said while walking back to the King's Study with Kíli. "It's all based on spreading fear and terror. Even the soldiers and guards fear them so much they will never question an order. The Lords want us to be like sheep; everybody who asks too many questions, who won't follow every order blindly, will be thrown in the dungeons – or worse. That goes for their henchmen as well. They like to keep their subjects under control all times. That's one of the reasons for the curfew and the banning of public meetings. Everybody who has an opinion of their own is regarded as a public enemy and punished."

"Good. That's very good."

Thak stared at him. "Effective. Yes."

Kíli shook his head and smiled. "No, it's not. And that's good."

"I don't understand."

"In the Battle at the Lonely Mountain we were vastly outnumbered. Tens of thousands of orcs and goblins against hundreds of dwarves, men, and elves. And against all odds, we won. Why do you think we did? Because we were not just following orders blindly, like our enemies. We knew what we were fighting for. Because each and everyone of us was willing to give their lives for a brother, a sister, a friend, a lover, their home. It's the same now."

"I hope you're right. In any case I'm going to find out how many soldiers Dwoss has under his command. We should know what we are facing."

"Agreed. Will you find your way back to the Royal Wing? Hrynn said it was the safest place to be."

He parted from Thak, who assured him with a wink he could always ask for the way, and quietly slipped into the King's Study again.

Fíli was still sitting at his desk, doing paperwork.

Kíli silently sat down next to him and watched him dip the nib in the ink pot and sign the papers. The trembling of his fingers made his signature scrawly. It didn't look like the confident hand of Fíli, King of Erebor.

Kíli gently put his hand on his brother's and stilled the tremor. Fíli looked up.

"You remember when I was sick after Fynn fell off the pony?"

Fíli looked at him blankly.

"You stayed with me until I was better. You always did that. You always took care of me. Let me take care of you now."

"You were so small," Fíli said softly. "I promised myself I would never let anything happen to you. You're all I have."

"You have a wife. Children. You remember them, don't you?"

"Of course." His features were blank again. He reached for a scroll and started to unroll it.

"What is this?"

Fíli shrugged. "I can't remember much of what I read. I have this terrible headache all the time. It makes me sick. I forget many things. I can count myself lucky that I have such a good advisor. He fills me in on all my duties, explains all the paperwork to me, you know. Thanks to him it's a lot easier for me to make decisions."

"Such as stepping down and handing over the crown to Dwoss?"

Fíli's head snapped up. "How do you know? It was supposed to be a secret."

"Have you signed the abdication yet?"

"Dwoss is asking me to every day. But no, I haven't. I don't know why I don't want to do it. It simply feels wrong." He grunted and pressed the balls of his hands against his forehead. "Thinking about it makes my head want to explode. Where is my medicine?"

He reached in his pocket and uncorked the flask.

Kíli reached for it. "May I?"

Fíli pressed the flask against his chest and shook his head. "Dwoss said I shouldn't give it to anybody else. He said it was something prepared solely for me."

"You said I wasn't real. Just a dream. Where's the harm in giving it to me then?"

Fíli seemed to ponder about that for a while. And handed over the flask.

Kíli sniffed at it and his stomach turned. "That is disgusting."

His brother shrugged. "It's medicine."

Kíli let the flask slide into his pocket. "I have a far better medicine for you."

"You have? Mahal knows I could use it. It sometimes seems as if I were getting sicker from this potion instead of any better. Can I have it?"

Kíli got up. "Come with me."

"You're not trying to break into the innkeeper's pantry again? Even if we're hungry, it's still stealing, Kee. Thorin is going to be very angry with us if he finds out."

"He won't be angry. Thorin is very proud of you."

"Really? He is?" Fíli smiled and let Kíli lead him out of his study into the corridors and pathways of Erebor.

"It's beautiful, don't you think?" Fíli whispered suddenly. "The beauty, the splendour, the sheer craftsmanship! I dreamt of this moment all my life. Erebor! I can't believe we're really here. We made it!" He fell into a jog. "Come on, lazybones. Speed up! We need to find the others. Your leg isn't that bad any more. At least it wasn't when you were chasing that elf-maid at the riverbank. Did you really give her the rune-stone? Mother is going to kill you, you are aware of that, aren't you?"

He was still dragging Kíli along when they heard the stomping of an approaching patrol.

"Fíli," Kíli hissed and tried to make him stop. But his brother was pressing forward.

"Fíli! Let's hide!"

"No time to play, Kee." With that Fíli vanished round the corner.

Kíli cursed. And just when he had decided to find a hiding place and catch up with Fíli after the patrol was gone, he heard loud voices from where his brother had been heading. He cursed again and hurried to where the ruckus came from.

"Two dead guards!"

"The retard has been seen around here, the axehead! I bet it was him!"

"Of course they were pushed! It was murder!"

"Let's search every private quarter. Arrest some troublemakers. That's the least we should do!"

"And who are you, sneaking around here?"

A hand grabbed Kíli around the throat. He choked.

"I asked you something. What are you doing here? Alright. I'll make you talk."

The soldier raised his fist but a hand closed around his wrist.

"Let go," Fíli said.

"This is probably the evil-doer who killed two of our men!"

"I'm going to break your arm if you don't."

"Your Majesty, you mustn't get excited. We have everything under control."

"Let him go." Fíli's voice was dangerously calm and his fingers closed painfully tight around the soldier's wrist.

The guard paled visibly and loosened his grip around Kíli's throat.

"Of course, your Highness." The soldier's eyes wandered from the King to the hooded dwarf next to him, clearly unsure of what to do now.

"Back off," Fíli said. "Stop bothering us."

"Of course, your Majesty." The soldier bowed and the squad moved on.

Kíli massaged his neck.

"Thank you. That was close."

"I will always protect you. But don't worry. You keep up training with Mr. Dwalin, and you won't need me anymore. And don't listen to those idiots. It's not worth getting into fights because of those stupid things they say. You don't look like a girl." He grinned. "Much."

They managed their way to the Royal Wing without further incidents, and if Fíli noticed where they were going he didn't show. When they entered the King's chambers, Hrynn pressed a hand on her mouth to stifle a cry. Fíli looked around in the richly decorated room as if seeing it for the first time, his gaze lingered on the Queen and then wandered to shelves of books and the comfortable bench by the fire. He sat down without a word, but his eyes followed Hrynn who was pouring them a drink.

"Your new medicine," Kíli explained when Hrynn was offering them two glasses of spirits.

Obediently Fíli downed his. He licked his cracked lips. "Tastes better."

Hrynn poured another and Fíli drank. He smiled shyly and held out his glass. "More?"

Kíli nodded. "Yes, drink as much as you want. It will help you to sleep."

"Sleep? I don't have time to sleep. There's so much I have to do."

"You finished everything. There's just the matter of your abdication left."

Fíli stiffened. "I don't think I want to sign that."

"Please don't. I have another idea." Kíli smiled.

X

The sun was tickling Kíli's nose when he woke up. He lay sprawled out on the giant bed in the royal couple's sleeping chamber. Through windows of stained glass that opened to the mountain's side in a complicated architectural pattern of apertures, rays of sunshine bathed the room in multi-coloured light. Fíli was sleeping on the other side of the bed and curled up at his side two little dwarflings were snoring peacefully. Freya and Fynn had woken up and peeped out of their room when Kíli had persuaded his brother to lay down in the bed chamber; and as soon as Fíli had slipped under the blankets and furs, they had climbed the bed and cuddled next to him. Hrynn had slept with baby Floi in the children's room but seemed to be awake now. Kíli could hear her talking to someone.

"He came here late last night and was very tired. He is still sleeping." She sighed. "Will he ever be his old self again? I didn't leave the Red Mountains to be married to a wimp. It was tolerable in the beginning, but now I've been confined to my quarters for moons!"

She laughed at the reply. "Safety? Rubbish. It is more convenient for you this way. I don't blame you, if I were in your shoes I would do the same."

Kíli silently got up, tiptoed to the door and pressed his ear against it.

"No," Hrynn was saying now. "I want my privileges back, I am a queen! I am used to a certain life-style. Being locked in with three dwarflings is not my idea of grandeur. Give me what I want and I will help you to get what you desire."

Kíli pressed his ear closer to the wooden door.

"And what would that be?" A male voice said.

Hrynn laughed. "Do you think I am stupid? I know you want to get rid of him and take the throne yourself."

"Ridiculous."

"Yes, it is. Your feeble attempt to make it official with a bit of paper will not succeed. Fíli, King under the Mountain, is much-loved by his subjects. They don't see how deranged he is. They won't accept you because of a piece of paper."

"What do you suggest?"

"It needs to be an official ceremony. It is vital that he disclose to all of Erebor's citizens that he is sick and unfit for the crown. Fíli will have to appoint you leader ad interim the same time. We will both benefit from that agreement. I stay Queen of Erebor, my son will be King one day, and you are going to rule Erebor – officially."

"He has so far refused to sign his abdication, although I explained to him more than once that he must do it for the good of his people. He is not able to lead a kingdom as big and important as Erebor. Even chief healer Graurr agrees. He is sick – deranged if you will – it's in his blood. Dragon-sickness. Do you really think he will agree to a ceremony?"

Kíli heard Hrynn laugh. "Of course, he will. We can pull it off as early as tonight, if you want to."

"You would backstab your own husband just like this?"

"Don't be sentimental, Dwoss. It was an arranged marriage, and now I am going to arrange something more profitable. We have to think of Erebor. She needs a king who is not mad. A true leader… like you."

Kíli felt slightly faint. He didn't dare to breathe.

"Tonight then. And now I'm going to escort His Majesty out of these quarters, he has a lot of duties to attend to."

Kíli could only just dive under the bed before the door opened and Dwoss entered. He tried to stifle his ragged breathing, and sweat got into his eyes. His fingers pressed so hard on the stone floor, he was afraid Dwoss would hear the scraping of his nails. His entire body was aching with the want to get out from under his ridiculous hiding place and punch Dwoss' ugly traitor's face into a pulp.

"Your Majesty, wake up."

He heard Dwoss shake his brother awake, heard Fíli grunt and obediently get up. And then he heard something that nearly broke his heart. He heard the little ones cry. It sounded as if they tried to cling to their long-lost father and were rudely pushed back by Dwoss.

"Don't hurt them!" That was Hrynn's voice.

"Get them out of here. The King has no time for this kind of nonsense."

He heard Hrynn try to soothe the sniffing dwarflings who were obviously determined not to let Fíli leave.

"We promise to behave, Da. Don't be angry no more. Please?"

"I'll eats greens. Loads!"

"Da?"

"Get away you little blighters, be a nuisance elsewhere!"

There was the sound of feet shuffling, of shoving, maybe even punching, followed by a sharp cry of pain that clearly had come from Dwoss.

And then there was Fíli's voice, quiet and comforting. "Freya, Fynn, come here. I am not angry with you, and I won't allow anybody to hurt you."

Kíli's heart stopped a beat. That was the second time Fíli had defended loved ones. He was still there. His brother was still in there.

But the moment was over too soon. Fíli groaned with pain. "In need to lay down again. My head feels as though it's going to explode."

"You need to take your medicine, my liege. I am very sorry, but you can't have the luxury of napping at daytime. We have a tight schedule with the ceremony tonight."

"What ceremony?"

"Your Majesty is forgetting things again. You mustn't skip your medicine. Best take a double dose now."

Kíli gritted his teeth as he heard the familiar sound of a flask being uncorked. And when the little ones cried out to their father again, he didn't show any reaction but let Dwoss lead him out of the chambers.

As soon as Kíli had crawled out from under the bed, Fynn flew into his arms and pressed his tear-stained face against his chest.

Hrynn, who held a weeping Freya close, looked at him anxiously. "Do you think he bought it?"

"I bloody nearly bought it. You sounded dead convincing." A disturbing thought entered his mind. "What if we are too convincing? What if the whole of Erebor thinks Fíli really is too sick and will truly step down in favour of Dwoss? How do we tell them that Dwoss was behind all the terrible things that happened in last moons?"

"We leave that to Dwoss."

"Huh?"

"He is a self-opinionated ass. With a little encouragement he will pride himself on every foul plan of his. And the King's Voice will spread the word."

"The what?"

"The King's Voice. Don't tell me you don't know of it! That small alcove in the Throne Hall. Even the faintest whisper uttered near the King's Voice is clearly audible in each and every corner. The kings of old used it to magnify their voices. It is said that even the elves were impressed."

"Fíli never said a word about the King's Voice."

"He thinks it preposterous." Hrynn smiled.

"If he never used it, how do we know it works?"

She blushed slightly. "I didn't say he never used it."

"Huh?"

"Your mother and my parents signed the marriage contract because it was a historical opportunity to unite two ancient dwarven kingdoms. Yes, I found him agreeable. But I had given my consent to marry Fíli only because he was king of Erebor. I wanted to be queen of the most praised of all seven realms. Love had no part in it."

Kíli raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She smiled. "You see, you were not so wrong hating me back then."

"Yeah, I was. Fíli was in love with you from the moment he saw you."

"That was unexpected. And I admit, I was flattered. He was handsome, and charming, and more prudent than I ever would have imagined. Surprisingly, we had a lot to talk about. Not a bad foundation for a marriage. Others would have been content with that, but not Fíli. He wanted to win my heart. One day, he told me to meet him in the Throne Hall. When I arrived, I heard the most beautiful sound, so tender and delicate; and yet it filled the whole hall. When Fíli stepped out of the alcove playing his fiddle, I realised he had played solely for me. But he wanted his love song for me to be heard by everyone in every corner of the hall. I fell for him then, utterly."

"Damn, I knew I should have practised more. Play the fiddle, get the lass."

She smiled slightly, but before it could reach her eyes her features became serious.

"I want him back, Kíli. I want those punished who did this to him."

* * *

Ozirum menu seleku = They couldn't forge a spoon.

Khazad tumul = Mindless dwarf.

Bundushatur = Numbskull.

Remenu = To arms.


	34. Chapter 33

I've been asked where the other chapters are. In my laptop, waiting to be posted. I was going to publish one each week, at the weekends. But if you like, I can post them all at once; or on Saturday and, let's say, Wednesday, and Saturday again; or whatever you want. We can make a poll.

It all depends on how much suspense you want – and now that we're on the home straight, I guarantee there is some...

* * *

 **XXXIII.**

The Throne Hall was swarming with dwarves who were talking in worried, hushed voices. Soldiers had been positioned at every entrance. They were pushing back those who hadn't found a place in the giant hall and were now trying to peep in and to listen from the balconies, corridors and stairways. A murmur went through the crowd and one word echoed from the walls: abdication.

Kíli stood wedged between two merchants at the side near the dais, his blue hood deep in his face. He was biting his lip. He hated being condemned to inactivity like this. And to make matters worse, he didn't have a single weapon on him. Everybody had been searched by the guards and had to hand over their weapons, from tiniest dagger to monstrous double-headed axe.

It was all up to Hrynn now. She had to lure Dwoss close to the King's Voice and make him confess. Bofur had had his miners and the archers ready to storm the hall and overpower Dwoss' soldiers. Thak had taken a position from where he could get to the pile of weapons that had been confiscated from the visitors. And if the timing was right, Tauriel and the tenth division would come to their aid. Kíli just hoped he could avoid bloodshed. Dwarves fighting and killing each other? The very thought made his stomach turn.

A giant horn sounded in the hall, and the mass of dwarves fell silent. The members of the Council stepped onto the dais and took position behind the throne. When Fíli, the raven crown on his hair, appeared, his face pale and haggard, the crowd started murmuring again. Fíli looked deadly ill. Hrynn, pale-faced and tense, drew Freya and Fynn closer. They were anxiously watching every unsteady step their father took.

The Council speaker banged a drum.

"We are summoned here today to witness a ceremony that has never been held before. It speaks for the wisdom of our King that he is willing to renounce the throne and give up crown and kingdom."

Bewildered, Fíli looked around. "I never agreed to that."

There was an uproar from the crowd that could only be silenced when the guards threatened to use their weapons. The drum was banged again, and the old dwarf on the dais spoke again.

"A king not fit to reign can still act in the best interest of his people by passing the regalia onto a far better suited successor. Fíli, King under the Mountain, will now do so under the watchful eyes of Erebor's subjects and its Council."

The guards at the doors started to push dwarves back with their spears.

"What are all these armed soldiers doing here?" Fíli demanded to know. "What is happening? I want to speak with Dwalin!"

The Council-speaker ignored him and lifted the ceremonial sword. "With this sword, forged by no other than Thrain I himself, our beloved forefather and founder of Erebor, the kingship was conferred; with this sword the ties between the Line of Durin and the Lonely Mountain will be cut."

The crowd hissed and booed.

Now, Kíli thought. She had to do it now.

"Fíli, son of Dís, step forward."

Blinking in the light of the chandeliers, Fíli obeyed. He massaged his temples.

The Council-speaker handed over the ceremonial sword and Fíli took it. He looked confused.

"King under the Mountain, repeat after me: I, Fíli of Erebor, son of Dís, son of Flóki, hereby renounce my right to rule. Dwoss, son of Hoss, will from now on lead this kingdom into a better future. The insignia of Erebor are his to take: the raven crown, the arkenstone…"

"Not the arkenstone," Fíli said. "No one shall ever be ensnared by it again. Thorin Oakenshield watches over it until the world will end."

Kíli saw Hrynn urge Dwoss to follow her to the alcove just behind the throne.

Yes, he thought.

"The King," he heard Dwoss' voice echo loudly in the Hall, "is being poisoned. His mind has been tampered with."

An outcry came from the crowd, dwarves were now pushing and shoving each other. Kíli was trying to get some space, to see what was happening, but the surrounding dwarves closed in on him. Hands gripped his arms, and he felt the sharp tip of a sword at his back. He was hauled onto the dais, and only Dwoss' hand that closed around his neck kept him from falling.

"And this is the villain who did that to our beloved King!"

Dwoss pulled down the hood.

"The blood-traitor! The elf-lover! The King's own brother!"

Fíli's head snapped round. His eyes were wide.

"Did you really think you could outwit me?" Dwoss snarled into Kíli's ear. "I have known for days that you were coming with your sorry troop of men and elves. Did you really believe you could stop me, you and that pathetic female of a wannabe queen, when I have the Dark Lord and his armies on my side?"

"Proof! We want proof!" The shouts were loud now, too loud to be ignored. The crowd swept forward, some dwarves were already trying to break through the soldier's blockade. Kíli could make out Thak who was climbing a balcony to get to the weapons; Bifur who was barging his way through the crowd and facing soldiers armed with spears now. There was Katla, getting her bow ready. No, he thought. This was wrong. This was going so terribly wrong.

"Proof?" Dwoss shouted. "You are still loyal to the traitor? He doesn't deserve your love and trust! But I will give you proof!"

Kíli struggled in Dwoss' grip but when he saw the blade at Hrynn's neck that was already drawing blood, he stopped.

"You think he is the hero of Ravenhill? You think he saved his brother, the King, and turned the Battle? I tell you he is nothing more than a traitor and kin-slayer!" Spittle sprayed on Dwoss' chin. "Two soldiers are dead. Two others were trampled down by vicious beasts. He turned against his own people. His own brother. He wants the throne, he wants the treasure! You want proof for his despicable attempt to usurp? Here is the proof!"

Dwoss reached in Kíli's pocket and produced the silver flask.

"Here is the potion our beloved King has been poisoned with!"

"No!" Kíli shouted. "No! That's a lie!"

Dwoss opened the flask and sniffed. "A lie, is it? This is poison. Chief healer Graurr will confirm that this is what the King has been poisoned with all this time."

Fíli's eyes were still set on his brother; and the strange, blank look was replaced by something else: hurt. He let the sword drop from his trembling hands.

"No!" Kíli shouted again, desperately. "It was Dwoss, all those moons he tried to gain power! Don't you see what he has done to Erebor?"

"I freed her from filth! I allowed her to return to her virtues, be the proud dwarven kingdom Thrain I envisioned her to be."

At Dwoss' signal his soldiers started to kettle the struggling spectators.

Kíli made a move towards the ceremonial sword, but Hrynn managed to free herself and picked it up faster. She placed the tip at Dwoss' throat. The bushy-bearded dwarf started to laugh.

"What do you want with that? You don't even know how to hold it properly."

She pressed the tip harder against his throat, and the offensive dwarf took an involuntarily step back.

"You think you can fight me, woman? You are nothing but a spoilt dam!"

"I am Fíli's wife. And I am going to make you pay for what you did to him!"

Thak laughed again. "And what would that be?"

She pushed the heavy sword clumsily forward, and Dwoss retreated a little further back.

"You poisoned him. You brainwashed him. You turned him into your puppet to assume power."

With one quick movement he whipped the sword out of her hands.

"You have no idea who you are dealing with! I am Dwoss, master poisoner from the Grey Mountains," he spat, and his voice echoed loudly in the throne hall. "Our Elders sent me, the Grey Lords sent me, to put an end to Durin's Line."

She stepped forward, ignoring the sword that was dangerously close to her breast now.

"Why?" She asked. "Why did you poison Kíli? Why Fíli? Why did you kill Eyra? She was a librarian, for Mahal's sake!"

"The blood-traitor didn't yield to Morgul poison, even when I increased the dose more and more. So I persuaded the King to ban him. It was a lucky coincidence that the wizard caught the stupid lass red-handed, all I had to do was to kill her before she could expose me. And your stubborn husband? He resisted so much longer than I ever anticipated. But I got him now. His brain is a jelly, he will do anything I tell him."

Hrynn was crying now, but she took another step forward. The sword cut her fur stole. Dwoss took a tiny step back and readjusted the sword, slicing her sleeve.

She ignored the bleeding cut on her arm and forced him back another, tiny step. "You didn't answer the question. Why?"

"Because they were thwarting our plans! The Lonely Mountain needs to be truly lonely; all relations to men and elves had to be cut. Sauron wants Erebor to stand utterly alone, he wants it weak. The orc armies must be able to enter Rhovanion unhindered. The Grey Lords must be able to settle down in Erebor if it is their wish."

His voice, magnified a hundredfold, thundered in the hall, and for a moment everybody was silent. Every dwarf stared at Dwoss, who stood right in the middle of the King's Voice and threatened the Queen with the ceremonial sword.

Dwoss looked around. He laughed. "You are cunning. You managed to get through with your plan after all. But what will you do now, Hrynn, daughter of Hesta?" He gestured towards the Throne Hall, where his soldiers were now taking up arms against the defenceless dwarves.

"There is nothing anybody can do. I will hand over Erebor to my master. And you cannot stop me. You are not even a fighter!"

"But I am." Thak jumped down from a balcony and crossed blades with Dwoss.

As if that was the signal everybody had been waiting for, the fight started. Some dwarves managed to break through the soldiers' line and were supplying the others with weapons from the pile. Bifur was right in the centre, spinning round with a spear and knocking soldiers' off their feet like a spinning top. Arrows swooshed through the hall, and Kíli could make out his archers standing in the arcades that were supported by giant stone figures high above the hall. From deep down he could hear the war cries and stomping of many heavy boots: the miners were coming. Several tall figures drove the heavily armed soldiers back; the tenth division had entered the mountain. Kíli saw Ruyak engaging two of Dwoss' fighters at once, and just when he was about to be defeated, there was Nori at his side. Someone had released the prisoners who joined the fight with grim determination.

Thak and Dwoss were still fighting each other. Blows were raining down on the moss-bearded dwarf, and he stumbled and ducked. Thak didn't stop, he pressed forward, again and again, his already bloody blade came down unrelentingly. Dwoss' foot slipped over the edge of the small stone bridge that led to the dais, and he could only just keep his balance. But Thak who was storming forward couldn't get a hold and went right over the edge. His hands that were trying to grab his opponent's leg either for support or to or drag him down with him, grasped at nothing.

Dwoss straightened. He looked at Fíli who was standing in the middle of the gallery and surveyed the bitter fights around him with wide and troubled eyes.

"My liege," Dwoss said and took a cautious step towards Fíli. "Our soldiers will counter the insurgency, don't you worry. But we need to take you to safety until the riot is over."

"Don't!" Kíli stepped on the other side of the gallery. "Don't go with him. He commanded his soldiers to attack our people. He is after your blood!"

"I am protecting you. You are sick, my King, you need my help."

"He made you sick. He has been feeding you poison."

"The flask was in your pocket."

"Because Fíli gave it to me. You remember that, nada? You remember our promise, to always protect each other?" Kíli reached out his hand. "Please, Fee. Trust me."

Fíli's eyes that were still dark with hurt and the fear of betrayal, swept over him. "How can I trust you?"

It was like reliving the last time he had seen Fíli, nearly six moons ago. _How can I trust you_ – these had been his brother's very words and they had cut deeply. He hadn't had an answer then. He still didn't know what to say. But he knew he would not back down again.

"Exactly right, your Highness! Don't listen to the blood-traitor. He would sell Erebor to elves without scruples. You are right not to trust him."

Fíli rubbed his forehead and raked his fingers through his hair. "I can trust no one. They want to steal from me. My gold, my peoples, my kingdom. They lie to me. They use me."

Kíli still held out his hand. "Trust me."

They looked at each other, silently. Blues eyes locked into brown. The cacophony of fighting around them seemed to fade. Nothing else mattered than Fíli's eyes, confused, frightened, full of doubt. Desperation flared in them like black fire. And yet a tiny sparkle was born and fought to stay alive: hope. Slowly, very slowly, Fíli reached for Kíli's hand and closed his fingers around it.

"Yes," he said simply.

"No!" Dwoss raged. "This cannot be! That was my masterpiece! The King of Erebor made a puppet. He must not resist!" He lifted the sword for a lethal attack, but before Kíli could place himself protectively in front of his brother, a sudden gust made them all take a step back. It tore at their hair, and the white blinding light that came with it made them squint.

"A just and kind heart can never be a masterpiece of evil," Gandalf thundered. He lifted his staff and the white gem embedded in the gnarly wood flashed like lightning. "Fíli, step out of the darkness that held you captive for too long! I release you."*

There was another flash of lightning from the wooden staff, and Fíli blinked. He shook his head as if to drive the last remains of poison and delusion away. The weariness of his features turned into cognition. He looked around as though he'd woken from dark dreams.

"Kíli," he said softly. And then louder: "Kíli!"

He drew his younger brother into a tight embrace. "Thank you. You freed me!"

"That was Gandalf."

Fíli laughed. "Yes. But without you he would not have been able to do it. You were my lifeline. You didn't give up on me!"

"Never." Kíli felt as though his grin would split his face. He clapped Fíli on the back repeatedly, who returned the gesture with so much affection that Kíli had to cough. Then Fíli released him all of a sudden and darted forward to close his arms around Hrynn.

"So sorry," Kíli heard him whisper, "I am so sorry, Amrâlimé, my love, my brave warrior-queen."

Hrynn laughed and cried as she held him tight and stroke his face, his hair; they both did, and they kissed as though they were all alone and not surrounded by fighting dwarves, and Grey Mountain's soldiers, and Gandalf, and the traitor Dwoss.

Dammit. Dwoss.

Kíli whipped round, but Dwoss was gone. All he could see was the crowd of fighters. And right in the middle, swinging her axe and swearing like a tinker from the Iron Hills, was his mother.

Kíli blinked.

Next to Dís, cutting down Dwoss' soldiers like blades of grass, stood Dwalin.

With a mighty leap Kíli jumped from the bridge into the mass of axes, swords and spears and pushed his way through the fray.

"Mum!"

At the sound of his voice, Dís turned. She laughed and hugged him tightly.

"Kíli! You returned to me!"

"And with a beard!" A rumbling laughter came from Dwalin who head-butted an attacking soldier. "Did you shave a mole and glue its fur to your babyface?"

Kíli rolled his eyes. "What are you doing here? Apart from being unfunny? I thought you were on your way to Ered Luin?"

"We never left," his mother said and let her axe swoosh over his head to embed it in a soldier's. "We stayed at some caves near the pine grove, waiting for a chance to come back and bite Dwoss in the arse."

"That was where we met your company," Dwalin added. "Those men from Gondor and…" He cleared his throat and cast the Lady Dís a quick glance.

She yanked her axe free with more force than necessary. "She told me you were in Erebor to rescue Fíli, that elven witch of yours."

"Wife, Mother. The word you wanted to use is wife."

She gritted her teeth. "Wife. Of course."

"Where is she?"

"Outside, with some of the Gondorians. An orc army came down from the Grey Mountains."

"What?"

"Dale has sent troops. King Bain is leading them himself."

"Mirkwood came to our aid, too," Dwalin added. "King Thranduil, of course, is not leading the elven division himself. He preferred to stay at home brushing his hair."

A whirl of gold, of shiny blades, and Fíli was at their side; laughing and hugging first Dís, then Dwalin, then Dís again.

"Finished snogging your wife?" Kíli punched his brother's arm.

"No." Fíli grinned. "That was just the beginning. You will have to babysit the little ones tonight. Tomorrow night as well. And the night after. Maybe the whole week."

"Why don't you make it a full moon?"

Fíli's face lit up even more. "Great! Thank you!"

Kíli huffed. "Overestimating your stamina a little?"

Fíli's grin widened. "You have no idea, little brother."

He let his two swords pierce a soldier who sneaked up on them and kicked the dwarf backwards into the crowd, while watching the fighting that was visibly dying down.

"We are gaining the upper hand. It will be over soon. Not too many casualties, as far as I can see."

Then he tensed. "Dwoss!"

"Where?"

But Fíli didn't take the time to answer. He climbed the gallery and ran towards the dais. Kíli, Dís and Dwalin followed as quickly as they could.

In front of the rune-decorated throne of Erebor was Dwoss, the ceremonial sword in his hand. It was pointing at Hrynn, who was shielding her dwarflings' bodies.

"Get away from them!" Menace was in Fíli's voice.

"At your Majesty's service." Dwoss took a mock-step backwards. But his face paled visibly at the sight of the blood-stained swords twirling.

"You," Fíli growled. "You thought you could use me? Take what is mine and give Erebor to orcs? And now you are threatening my family?" He lifted the swords above his head to strike. Dwoss blocked them poorly.

"Everything I did, I did for our benefit!" The master poisoner's voice was shrill. "Durin's folk are few, we mustn't mingle with other races, we mustn't care about what is happening to this world. We are meant to live secluded lives, deep underground, and we will be rewarded with precious treasures the mountain will offer to us. That is how it always was, and that is how it shall always be. Even Sauron and his Grey Lords understand that better than you, unworthy King under the Mountain!" Dwoss spat at Fíli's feet.

"You bloody son of a…" Dís leapt forward, swinging her axe.

She collided with Dwalin who made a go at Dwoss at the same time.

Fíli cursed and shoved them both out of his way, only to find Dwoss out of reach. The obnoxious dwarf had taken his chance to run and was already behind the throne, heading for the gallery surrounding the hall. Suddenly the swoosh of a projectile made Dwoss turn round.

Katla stood on the stone bridge leading towards the dais, the now empty bowstring still vibrating. Kíli saw her arrow fly and knew with utter clarity it would hit its mark.

With a sickening thud it pierced Fíli's back. He stared at the bloody tip that was protruding from his chest. His mouth started to ask a question, but it was drowned in a gush of blood.

"No!" Kíli cried. And again, his voice cracking. "No!"

Fíli looked at him uncomprehendingly. And then he fell as if all life had been sucked out of him in a single heartbeat. His body crashed on the floor and lay motionless, awfully twisted and still. Hrynn screamed, a single terrible, broken scream. And then she fell silent.

"The king is dead," Dwoss said as he slowly walked back and took the crown that had rolled into the puddle of blood. He put it on his head. "Long live the king."

* * *

* It may or may not be a coincidence that Gandalf used a similar method several years later when he freed King Théoden of Rohan from Saruman's grip. And why shouldn't he? Even a wizard doesn't have to reinvent the wheel.


	35. Chapter 34

**XXXIV.**

Katla came closer, a fresh arrow nocked that was pointed at Dwoss' heart. "Put that down. The crown belongs to Kíli. He is Erebor's rightful king."

"An elf-shagger on Erebor's throne? I don't think so."

"Put it down." Her voice was quivering. "You agreed to that. Keep your word or I'll kill you."

"It's a lot of killing you will have to do. The brother is not the only heir. There are many who could claim the crown. Fíli's offspring. His mother."

He nodded at Dís, who was crouching over Fíli's body, trying to stop the bleeding, while tears ran down her face. Dwalin was on Fíli's other side and frantically felt for a pulse, his face getting more and more desperate. Kíli couldn't move. His mind was unable to think, his tongue could form no words, his eyes were dry. He didn't feel anything. He was dead. The moment Fíli had been shot, Kíli's life had ended.

"I will dispose of them," Katla gnarled. "No one is going to steal this away from Kíli ever again. No stranger like you and certainly no greedy relative like before." She directed her weapon at Fynn who was crying so hard he had a hiccup. "You first, little one, then your sister."

"You forgot the children's mother," Dwoss sneered. "That devious bitch. As the King's widow even she has the right to rule Erebor."

"I will kill them all."

Kíli stepped protectively in front of his sister-in-law and her children that Hrynn was now clutching tight. His body was moving on its own account; and when he picked up one of Fíli's bloodstained swords, it was as if he was watching himself from afar.

Katla blinked. "Move away. I do not want to hurt you."

Kíli looked at the crumpled form of his brother laying in his own blood just like he had seen in Galadriel's mirror, at his weeping mother who was caressing Fíli's face.

"You already have."

"Kíli, please. Get out of the way."

"No."

"There is nothing you can do to save them. They will die. But you don't have to."

"I am their Sword And Shield."

"Think of Erebor. She needs a king."

"She had a king."

"It should have been you. You slew Azog."

"Killing an orc does not make a king. The foresight to lead one's people into a new future does. Bravery, loyalty, devotion. Fíli had it all."

"Fíli?" She spat on the ground. "You are a true son of Durin, a mighty warrior, but Fíli? He is a disgrace to his bloodline. He gave away Erebor's riches to those lazy Dalesmen and treacherous elves of Mirkwood. As compensation. To make up for old injustices! I wonder what Thorin would have said to that! That new future Fíli was going to lead us into? That would have been our doom!" She stepped closer, and there was something flickering in her eyes that he had seen before, but had always ignored. An uncanny, almost manic kind of devotion. "You are our future. Durin the Deathless chose you. You must lead us."

"He is a blood-traitor!" Dwoss yelled. "I agreed to put him on the throne solely because the Dark Mark designated him to be Sauron's ear and mouth. But he resisted. Now he is nothing but filth that needs to be disposed."

Katla shook her head. "The attraction of the foreign can be misleading. Kíli was a victim of that. But other races don't enrich our culture, they are no friends; they infiltrate our way of living and stain our blood. Don't you see, Kíli? This is a chance to put an end to that. To restore dwarven purity, to ensure that Durin's blood prevails. You know that I dislike orcs as much as any dwarf. But this time we can use them to our own advantage. Dwoss explained everything to me. We only have to grant them passage when the war starts. Supply them with weapons. Maybe let them reside at Erebor for a short period of time. In return, they let us live our lives. It can work, you know. Just like it does in the Grey Mountains."

"I'd rather die before I let an orc set a foot into Erebor."

"You will, if you don't comply."

"So be it." He lifted his sword. "And I will take as many of you with me as I can."

As if this was his cue, Dwalin got to his feet, grabbed his two axes and roared like a bear. All blood drained from the surrounding soldiers' faces as the giant Weapon Master attacked them. But at Dwoss' signal they obediently fought back. Dwalin hauled three of them simultaneously over the throne against the wall, but the remaining eight were on him at the same moment and tried to wrestle him to the ground. Four other soldiers rounded on Kíli, when Dwoss flicked his fingers again. Katla stopped them with some well-placed arrows.

"Don't harm him. He is merely upset at the moment. He will come to his senses eventually."

Dwoss sneered. "I'll send him off to Mordor first thing."

Katla grabbed Dwoss' arm. "No! You promised me he would be king! That's why I didn't expose you when I found out you had been poisoning Kíli. I even allowed you to continue harming him because you said it was necessary for the greater good. I lulled Balin into a false sense of security when I told him Khazad-dûm was safe to enter, although we all know it is not! I did all this because you promised me you would help me to put the rightful heir of Durin on Erebor's throne."

"I lied. None of these brats deserve to rule Erebor. One is as bad as the other," Dwoss snarled.

"I should have known you didn't mean it! I should have known you wanted the throne for yourself, you untrustworthy piece of slime," she yelled. "You wanted him out of Erebor all along! I suspected as much after your sorry attempt to conquer Erebor, when I almost succeeded to shoot Fíli. Instead of finishing what I had started, you persuaded the King to send Kíli away. I searched half of Rhovanion in order to find him. I turned every stone. I burnt villages to the ground, and killed every man, woman and child. I had to go as far as Lothlórien to find an elf who at least had seen Kíli, but even under torture he did not tell me what I wanted to know. Everything led to a cold scent. It was pure luck that I intercepted the raven and learned Kíli was on his way back. I will have him on the throne at all costs. You will bow to Durin the Deathless reborn!"

Dwoss laughed. "I would rather kiss an elf."

The fighting around them got more heated. Three soldiers jumped on Dwalin's back while two others tackled his legs and a sixth rammed his head into his stomach. With an angry grunt Dwalin went down and was immediately pinned down by heavy armoured bodies. Dís grabbed two soldiers' heads and crashed them together.

Kíli's breath caught. Had he just seen Fíli's fingers twitch? Yes, Fíli was spreading his fingers, painfully slowly, but they were moving.

Dís had noticed too. She let go of the unconscious soldiers, and when she looked at her eldest son, the despair in her features was replaced by something else: comprehension.

Fíli's hands were now pressed to the stone floor, palms flat, fingers splayed out. Dís mimicked his posture. Dwalin bucked off the soldiers who sat on his belly and put his hands on the stone in exactly the same fashion. Dís' eyes met Kíli's and everything fell into place.

He put his palm against the wall. As soon as his skin touched the smooth stone, he felt it. Pain. So much pain. Fear. Confusion. Anger. The whole mountain was in uproar. These were Fíli's feelings that were seeping into the rock just like his blood; they were Dís' who had thought she had lost her son; they were Dwalin's who was trembling with the want for vengeance. They were the essence of Erebor herself. She had felt the arrow pierce her king's body and she was raging with pain, and anger, and the fear of losing his guidance.

Kíli pressed his hand more tightly against the cool wall, and when Freya looked up at him questioningly, he nodded nearly imperceptibly. The lass put both her hands flat on the stone. Her brother followed suit. The little ones looked afraid but did not flinch. They knew Erebor needed the connection to Durin's Line for what was about to happen.

Kíli had never witnessed the ritual before, let alone performed it, but he knew the words by heart.

 _We were forged out of your bone, we came to life in your embrace, we are one. Durin's blood calls upon you. Wake up._

He felt sudden heat throb against his palm, strong and fast like the beating of a heart.

 _Wake up,_ he pleaded. _Help us. Help Fíli._

Power was building up, a dark hum resonated from the stone that was as hot as glowing embers now. It echoed through the room and cascaded down the walls.

Dwoss looked up, puzzled.

"What was that?"

"The Manan Kunzek!" Katla's eyes widened in shock, and her voice quivered. "The Awakening of Stone."

The hum became a growl.

The soldiers scanned the vibrating walls around them, fear in their eyes.

"That is a mere myth. Our mighty forefathers might have been able to do that but not… not them!" Dwoss' voice was shrill against the angry rumble.

The soldiers dropped their weapons and ran.

"They are Durin's Line!" Katla had to shout to make herself be heard against the growling and aching cacophony that surrounded them. She ducked when the ceiling cracked and small chunks of polished stone fell down.

"They are an insult to their line!"

A sharp piece of marble hit Dwoss at the temple and made him bleed. He cried out when a column gave way and part of the ceiling collapsed with it, smashing a fleeing soldier. When the poison master saw that the other columns were shaking and wide cracks appeared in the walls, he ran towards the small gallery, bumping into Katla who was still standing frozen to the spot, her face a mixture of wonder and terror. Dwalin's fist smashed into Dwoss' chin and he collapsed in a heap. Katla snapped out of her stupor and turned to run, away from the grumble all around the dais. Just as she had reached the middle of the small stone bridge, the walls groaned, the ceiling rumbled, and everything tumbled down. She was still wearing an expression of wonder when tons of rock buried her and shattered the small stone bridge under her feet into tiny pieces that crashed down into the abyss.

Kíli coughed in the cloud of debris and stumbled through the dust to where Fíli was lying. He could make out his mother kneeling next to Hrynn and the little ones who were holding onto Fíli's hands and pleading with him not to leave them.

"He is alive," Dís said, her voice raw. "He is breathing, but faintly. He needs healers, Kíli, quickly!"

Kíli nodded and put a hand on his brother's clammy forehead, before he got up and made his way towards the gallery behind the throne. Only it wasn't there any more. It was blocked by a large fragment of ornate stone.

Kíli looked around. Everywhere around them the walls and columns had come down. They were trapped.

Dwalin was already trying to shove aside a big granite boulder by pressing his massive shoulders against it, and Kíli followed suit. He pushed with all the strength he could muster, and so did Dwalin. The veins in the old warrior's neck popped out like ropes. Kíli nearly lost his footing on the debris-covered ground, but the stone was unyielding.

"It's not moving!" His eyes flickered to Fíli, who seemed to have lost consciousness again; to Hrynn, who had placed a hand on her husband's heart and was sobbing silently. To Dís, who held her grandchildren close and tried to comfort them.

Dwalin attempted to move the barrier once again; his bald head, covered in sweat, turned nearly violet with the effort.

"Stop it. It's no use. We will never be able to get it out of the way." Kíli raked his fingers through his hair and only then realised how much they were trembling. He stared at his hand. Of course. They had to ask the mountain for help one more time.

He pressed both his hands to the wall.

 _We need you. We need your strength._

The stone was warm under his skin, it tingled and vibrated. It felt as if from far away.

"Mum!"

But Dís already touched the wall, and so was Dwalin. Even Fynn and Freya pressed their palms onto the ground.

"Why isn't it working?" Kíli's voice was high-pitched with panic.

"It's Fíli," Dís whispered. „He is missing from the link."

Kíli pressed his hands to the wall more urgently. _Help us,_ he pleaded and let his forehead sink against the stone. _Fíli is part of you, and you of him. Please. Save him._

The stone groaned, and sighed, and shivered. And fell silent again.

There was no sound in the deathly quiet other than Hrynn's dry sobs.

All strength left him, and Kíli dropped to his knees.

This could not be.

This.

Could.

Not.

Be.

The ground started to quiver and shake. A deep rumble erupted from the walls. And then the hall was shaking as though in the grip of an earthquake. When the cloud of dust and debris had settled, the large stone fragment that blocked the gallery had been shattered into many small pieces. A person climbed through, her long, red hair grey with dust.

"Tauriel?"

She looked at his dirty, tear-stained face; at Dwalin getting to his feet; to Dís and Hrynn and the little ones. Finally her gaze settled on the still form of Fíli, the arrow in his back and his blood darkening the ground beneath him. With few long strides she was at his side, feeling for a pulse.

Kíli rushed at her side. "Can you help him?"

She shook her head and looked back at the large hole in the wall, through which Gandalf was now stepping. His staff was glowing and he stretched out a hand towards the lifeless body of the dwarven king, before getting to his knees at his side. His wrinkly hand rested on Fíli's head, and the wizard whispered urgently in a foreign tongue. After a while, Gandalf's features relaxed into a smile and he gently stroked Fíli's hair.

"It is safe to move him now. He turned his back on Mandos' Halls once again. That was not a moment too soon." He patted Tauriel's arm. "I didn't think elves could talk to stone but you proved me wrong. Well done."

Kíli stared at Tauriel. "You did that?"

"I am… not entirely sure."

"How? How did you do that?"

"I do not know. All I know is that I wanted to get to you. To help you. Intensely. The mountain seemed to understand. It destroyed what stood between us."

"She should not have been able to do that," Dís said in a flat voice. „Erebor listens to Durin's blood alone."

"Really, Mother?" Kíli barked. "You are complaining?"

"It is impossible, Kíli. She is an elf! Think about it."

He shook his head. "I am not listening to you. Without her, we would still be trapped, and Fíli would have died."

Carefully he scooped up his brother's limp body in his arms and carried him out of the Hall. A short wrestle with the healers followed, before Kíli eventually gave in and allowed them to take Fíli from his arms and carry him to the infirmary. He was glad to see that Gandalf followed them with billowing robes and that Strider accompanied him. In passing the wizard's staff flashed a blinding light at Graurr who was swept off his feet and crashed into the one column still standing. It collapsed under the impact and trapped the Chief Healer under its remains. Hrynn and the little ones rushed after the party anxiously. The others, the healer told them in a voice that allowed no argument, had to stay behind and wait until surgery was over.

Suddenly terribly tired, Kíli rubbed his face and looked at the remaining healers who were tending to the wounded. Among them, he realised with relief, was Thak, badly bleeding and bruised, and cradling a broken arm. There were quite a few dwarrows with cuts and lacerations, chopped off fingers and sword wounds, but only a dozen of their people seemed to have lost their lives defending Erebor and her king. Nonetheless, his heart clenched at the sight of the laid out bodies and the relatives and friends tearing out their hair and beards in mourning.

Dís turned to Kíli. "There is no way an elf could have talked to stone or taken part in the Manan Kunzak. The mountain would not have listened."

"Be grateful it did."

"I am. But you do not understand. It should not have happened."

He felt the little twang when his patience snapped like a cord. His lungs filled with air to shout and shout and shout at his stupid mother when a calm voice spoke.

"What your mother is trying to say is that it wasn't Tauriel."

He looked up at the Lady Undómiel who was walking over debris and rubble light-footedly, a soft smile on her face. A sudden fury clawed its way out of his chest that had nothing to do with the annoyingly serene High elf but with Fíli nearly dying, his own helplessness, and history repeating itself.

"And why not? She rescued our bloody lives once again, but everybody is ranting about her being an elf. I am sick of this. Of all those prejudices, all the hostility. Of anyone telling me she doesn't belong with me. I won't allow anybody to attack her. And I don't care whether it's Mother, or you, or bloody Durin the Deathless himself!"

Seemingly unaffected by his outburst, the raven-haired elf's smile deepened.

"You are very protective of her. As you should be. She needs you, your child needs you."

Kíli's mind went blank.

A wheezing sound came from Dís. "There is no child."

"It is not yet born. But Durin's blood is strong. It called out to the mountain, and Erebor answered."

Dís shook her head. "Impossible. Oín said there was no chance of another pregnancy."

"And yet it came to pass."

Kíli stared at Tauriel. "You're with child?"

She tilted her head. "I wished to tell you without ruffle or excitement, but I guess it's not our way."

He looked around in the ruined hall. At the tumbled-down walls, the broken columns and statues, the shattered glass, and broken weapons. At the captured Grey Mountain soldiers held in check by Bifur and Bofur. At Nimir who had his hands full to prevent Thak from strangling a still unconscious but securely bound Dwoss with his good arm. At the Council members who Nori was just parting from their jewellery. And he started to laugh.

He was still laughing when he made a dash towards her and swept her off her feet. Tauriel made a surprised little noise that turned into silvery laughter when her feet dangled in the air as he swung her around. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.

"Durin's marbles," he panted out of breath.

"They have something to do with it, yes," Dwalin muttered.

* * *

I loved your reviews, my preciousss. And yes, I developed a liking for evil cliffies, but the one that drove you nuts with worry for Fíli was simply too good to let it drop. But seriously, would I ever – I was going to say – harm Fíli, but well, yeah, I would. Obviously. But kill him? Fíli? FÍLI? Honestly, people! :)


	36. Chapter 35

**XXXV.**

"Why is he not waking up?"

"We must be glad that he is still alive."

"I know. I am. But…" Kíli looked at the still form of his brother, the deadly pallor of his face, his hands on the blanket. He looked more like a body lying-in-state than a living being. Kíli swallowed the lump in his throat. "Why is he not waking up?"

"He will. Eventually. We must be patient."

"Patient?" Kíli laughed dully. "What do you expect me to do? Sit here and watch him wither away? Patient. Durin's ass."

"Kíli." The wizard's voice was gentle.

"You saved his life when he was as good as dead. Why won't you heal him now?"

"My dear boy." Gandalf sighed. "I cannot heal anyone. Nor can I bring someone back from the dead. I am a wizard, I cannot perform miracles."

"But you did. He was dying, you spoke to him, and he lived. Why don't you do it again?"

"Because he is not listening. It was different in the Throne Hall; he listened to me then. He listened long enough to look back instead of going straight into Mandos' Halls. He listened to me when I told him his time had not yet come. He looked back at his life, at his loved ones, and he turned around. But the doors to the Halls of the Waiting are still open; he must close them and choose life instead."

"Then tell him! Make him listen to you once more!"

"There is nothing I can do. He must find his way back from the shadows to us on his own."

Kíli ruffled his hair in frustration. "What if he won't come back? He has not opened his eyes once."

"Fíli is strong. His wound is healing just fine, his mind will too. In good time."

Gandalf patted Fíli's legs under the covers awkwardly, got to his feet and turned to leave. "Time…," he murmured, "…is a treacherous thing. We always think we have too little of it. But in truth we must only decide what to do with the time that is given us."

Kíli felt like throwing the jug of water at the door the wizard had closed behind him. Instead, he forced himself to breathe. Slowly. Steadily. To calm down.

"Fíli," he said, his voice raw. "Wake up. Please, nadad."

He took his brother's hand in his. It felt cold and limp.

"The little ones are here every day. Hrynn refuses to leave your side. I managed to send them to your quarters to get some sleep, but they will be back any minute. Mum is climbing the walls. Everybody worries about you. You are scaring us."

He placed the lifeless hand back on the duvet again, feeling like a coward. He could not bear to touch it and feel no response, no sign of awareness. It was like touching a corpse. A sob escaped his throat.

Hastily, he got to his feet and paced the room, angrily blinking away the tears. This was not about him.

And yet it was.

It was his fault.

He had seen it all beforehand in Galadriel's mirror. He should have come back to Erebor and prevent things from happening. He had even got a second chance when Gandalf had told him about those evil dwarves searching for him, about the black-bearded leader who had tortured an elf of Lothlórien to find him. The dwarf with the arrow-shaped scar. He hadn't even once thought of Katla then, despite the fact that it had been his attempt to get the orc arrow out that had given her the scar. She had been proud of it, had gloated that it looked like an arrow. Why had he never thought of that? Eyra had tried to tell him. The syllables the dying dam had managed to choke out – _oss…an…la_ – made perfect sense now: Dwoss and Katla. Why had he been so stupid?

He had known Katla secretly wanted him on Erebor's throne instead of Fíli, but he had never suspected her to be capable of any evil. She had been his friend. Or so he had thought.

Now Fíli was paying the price for his naivety. Fíli, his wife, his children, Dís. Erebor.

He had managed to forestall any decisions regarding Erebor's future so far. Fíli should have the opportunity to set things right again. But the dwarves were starting to become impatient. The laws that had been written under the influence of Dwoss needed to be undone. A new Council had to be named. Even King Bain, loyal to the core to Fíli, was getting edgy. The taxes needed to be abolished, the roads had to be reopened, trade had to start anew. A decision had to be made what was to become of the Grey Mountain soldiers. Of Dwoss. As appealing as the idea might be, they couldn't be left in the dungeons to rot.

Time was running out. Stupid wizard and his stupid, enigmatic comments.

Kíli sat down at Fíli's bedside again and buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he heard the door open, he stood up and braced himself to face Hrynn and the little ones. Fynn and Freya carried little animals they had carved out of wood, even Floi had a sheet in his chubby fingers with something on it that looked like colourful footprints. The dwarflings came up to the bed and spread their presents out, while explaining to their father what they had made for him to get well soon. Kíli looked at Hrynn who was pale and puffy-eyed and didn't even manage a smile when their eyes met. He hugged her quickly and wordlessly and fled.

In so many ways this was even worse than Fíli being shot. They had been overjoyed when the healers had told them that, due to the ranger's knowledge of Athelas, Fíli would make a full recovery. His heart was beating strong and steady, and his wound was healing perfectly despite the considerable blood loss. But after a while the healers had begun first to frown and then to worry outright. The King should long have regained consciousness but had not opened his eyes once. Days had turned into weeks, and Fíli stayed motionless, pale, lifeless. Trapped somewhere between life and death.

Kíli walked away from the infirmary, his eyes burning, his heart heavy. He knew he should look for his mother, think about who might be appointed as a Council member, visit Dale, even Mirkwood. But he couldn't bring himself to any of these tasks. He didn't want to see anyone. He needed to breathe, needed to get away from this bloody mountain that threatened to take his brother's life once again.

He slipped into the small corridor that led upwards into the secret passage and emerged through the Secret Door. It was raining heavily, the wind-driven drops created water ripples on the puddles, the stone was almost black with wet. Ignoring the dampness that had already captured his neck and shoulders, Kíli began his slow descent on the slippery stairs. He stopped from time to time to let his gaze drift over the dark clouds that hid the Mirkwood and almost seemed to touch the surface of the Long Lake. At his third stop he saw someone standing at the doors to Erebor's necropolis and his heart sank even more.

The rain plastered his hair to his face, and his limp showed, when Kíli walked on the muddy ground towards the lone figure standing motionless at the mountain's foot. Two large stone soldiers with bowed heads guarded the giant stone gate on which the other dwarf's eyes were fixed. Thak's cloak was soaked, and his beard was dripping. His eyes were red-rimmed when he eventually looked at the newcomer.

"Is this the place?"

"Yes," Kíli answered softly. "You will find her in the small chamber to your right. It is one of many, the cave is large. A wide hall, the walls are glittering with ore. It is beautiful, a good place to Wait."

They had been lucky to find it when they restored Erebor after the Battle of the Lonely Mountain. They had needed a burial ground big enough for the remains of those who had died in dragon fire the day Smaug came. The King's crypt, in which Thorin Oakenshield had been put to rest, had been way too small for the number of bodies that had lined the halls and corridors of Erebor. It had taken weeks to remove the remains and bury them. Kíli remembered treading on bones when he, Fíli, Bofur and Oin had first entered Erebor. They had cracked under his heavy boots, and rustled like dry leaves. Mahal knew he had tried, but there had been no way to avoid stepping on the remains of their people. They were everywhere. Erebor to him failed to be what he always had imagined it to be; it wasn't the radiant kingdom of his ancestors, it was a dark tomb, it smelled of rotten things and dragon shit. Skeletons were piled up behind the Main Gate; some were still wearing partly melted armour, others were holding spears and axes in skeleton hands, bushy beards and hair covered bone. Kíli was fairly sure he hadn't been the only one who had been violently sick at the sight.

"She is allowed to Wait among your people? Although she tried to betray Erebor? After she poisoned you?"

"She was forced to. She never wanted to harm anyone. I'm sure she would have liked to stay at Erebor."

Thak nodded slowly. "Aye. That's one of the reasons why I'm grateful she was put to rest here, among your people. I know she would have wanted to stay. I've been to the library. Visited the open plains from where one can see the sky. It is not allowed at Ered Mithrin, but Eyra always loved to sneak out and look at the sky."

"You don't have to go back."

Thak smiled. "Oh yes, I have to. I need to resume my fight against the Grey Lords."

"How many soldiers do you need?"

"I know you said that before. But you would really send your soldiers into the Grey Mountains? After all that happened here? After your own forces are thinned out like that?"

"I would send no one. I'm going to ask for volunteers. And I am sure there will be plenty who would want to join you. We will still be able to defend Erebor."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because there's a colony oppressed by orcs. Because you risked your life and your health to help your people." He shrugged. "Because I consider you a friend."

"I consider you a friend as well. Despite…"

Thak let the rest of the sentence hang in mid-air. Someone at Erebor had obviously told him Kíli had taken a liking to Eyra once.

Kíli looked at his rain-drenched boots. It seemed to be a lifetime ago. Unreal. He couldn't even remember her face.

Thak put his good arm around Kíli's shoulder.

"You saved me from the Dungeon of Vardukanuk. You helped me to stay alive and more important sane. You want to help my people. And I know there was nothing between you and my wife to be concerned about. You are besotted with that elf." He chuckled. "She's alright, I suppose. Good fighter." Now he was laughing outright. "A prince of Durin's Line and an elf! She's not even pretty. Much too skinny. No facial hair."

Kíli failed to see what was so funny.

"Me being in love with an elf is one of the reasons all this happened. Why so many of our people turned against us. Fíli accepted her as his sister. He formed an alliance with the elves of Mirkwood that turned into friendship over the years. If he hadn't, he would not be in the infirmary now."

"From what I heard, your brother is smart and dares to leave old paths for new ways. You may walk these paths further than any dwarf before you, marrying an elf. But that was not the reason your brother reached out to elves and men. He did so because it was the right thing to do. Even I see that. I look at Erebor, and I see a dwarven realm that is prospering, full of new ideas, of life and laughter. I see children! I can't remember when a dwarfling was last born at Ered Mithrin. We merely exist under the orcs' heel until, one day, we will cease to exist." Thak shifted and turned to look at the outline of the Grey Mountains, partly covered in rain clouds. "You see now why I have to go back?"

"I would come with you, but…"

"I heard. You and the elf are having a baby. What do you call a child with a mixed parentage like this? A dwelf?"

"Funny. Never heard that one before." Despite the worn-out joke, Kíli had to grin. They had made a dwelf. And no matter how much everything got him down, the thought of their child that – the Lady Undómiel with her gift of foresight had assured them – was going to live a long and fulfilled life, always made the dark clouds disappear. But then he thought of Fíli, and his smile faded.

"Your brother's still unconscious?"

Kíli nodded. "What am I going to do?"

"The same you did in the dungeons. Never lose hope and find a way out of this mess."

Yeah, right, Kíli thought as he made his way back to Erebor through the rain, shivering in his soaked clothes. And since he was feeling miserable anyway, he went straight to the dungeons to see Dwoss.

The moss-bearded dwarf greeted him with a snarl.

"My Lord Prince. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?"

"Why Fíli?"

"You would have to ask your friend, the archer. It was she who shot him. But wait…" He bared his teeth in a grin. "You can't. She is in Mandos' Halls. I could take you there, my Lord. I know a potion that would bring you right into the Halls of the Waiting. If you ask nicely, I am willing to give it to you."

"Why did your elders send you to get him out of the way? What has he done?"

Dwoss stared at him from bloodshot eyes. "Are you really so stupid? The Dark Lord himself ordered Lord Ulrug to get Erebor under his command. Without the Lonely Mountain acting as stronghold for the free folk, the Grey Lords can conquer Rhovanion easily, maybe even the Shire, and the Blue Mountains. He knew Erebor's king would never work for him. So the king had to be replaced by someone who would carry out his orders. It had nothing to do with your brother. No one cares about him."

Kíli grabbed Dwoss by the throat and pulled his face against the bars. "I care about him. His wife cares about him. His children."

Dwoss choked and his face started to turn purple. Kíli loosened his grip a little.

"You lived at Erebor for many years. You were part of the Council. And yet you turned against us, you turned to the orcs. What kind of dwarf are you?"

"A proud one," Dwoss spat. "I honour my forefathers. We were the first-borns. Iluvatar took that from us. He held us captive so that his own children would be the first to draw breath, and the cursed elves have betrayed us ever since. Durin's folk shall never forgive nor forget that. But you and your brother welcomed them with open arms. You think working for the Grey Lords is detestable? At least they don't pretend to be our friends and stab us in the back like elves. Between elves and the Grey Lords? I prefer orcs. I do not care what they plan to do with Middle Earth. Sauron may rule aboveground as long as every realm under the mountains is ours."

Kíli bashed the offensive dwarf's face hard against the bars. Dwoss cursed and covered his bleeding nose with his hands.

"No-one from the House of Durin ever fought on the side of evil. That is what I am proud of. I should send you back to the Grey Mountains. See if you still prefer the company of orcs after they will have rewarded you for your services here."

"Lord Ulrug will spare me. He has too much need for my special skills," Dwoss spoke through his broken nose.

"Ulrug is dead." Kíli grinned maliciously. "And guess what? An elf killed him. The one I count myself lucky to be married to."

He left Dwoss to his cursing and whining and ground his teeth. He had been miserable before, now he was angry as well. He ought to send Dwoss back to the Grey Mountains, he thought bitterly. Let Thak take him back to the colony. Let the traitor meet those whose lives he had destroyed. Let them deal with him. Yes, he would do that. The sooner Dwoss left Erebor the better. To know that he had in some weird way succeeded in removing Fíli from the throne made Kíli's stomach revolt.

He entered the Royal Wing without even glancing at the guards that had been re-employed to watch the doors and pushed the door to his chambers open with his foot.

"There you are. I was beginning to get worried. You… Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! You are soaked to the skin!"

He brushed his sleeve against his running nose. "Raining."

"You are dripping!"

He looked at his feet where a small puddle was forming. "So?"

"You went out without a cloak or a hood?"

He glared at Tauriel.

"Come to the fire and get dry clothes."

He swatted her hands away when she tried to help him out of his leather jerkin.

"I am no child."

She stepped back. "Of course not."

"If I want to walk in the rain until I am drenched, I will do that."

"Of course."

"I am perfectly able to undress on my own."

"Of course."

"And if I choose to stay wet to the skin, I can do that!"

There was a little twitch at the corner of her mouth. Was she making fun of him?

"What?"

"And if you choose to behave like Fynn, or Freya, or Floi, you can do that too."

"Yes, I… Damn." He couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I can do that too. Anytime." And then he shook his wet hair that the drops were flying. She took a quick step back but was splattered with water anyway. Her eyebrow rose just enough to tell him she didn't find his little stunt amusing.

He pushed his still wet hair out of his face. "I'm sorry for my ill mood."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No. I need some sleep." He shut the door of his bedchamber behind him, aware that he never before had shut her out.

He let his wet clothes fall to the floor, put another log into the crackling fire and crawled into his bed. He knew he should employ Dwalin's trusted technique to shut out unwanted images of Fíli's waxen face, but didn't have the energy to sit and concentrate. He was far too edgy anyway.

Sleep didn't come, of course. Only blackness. It crept up on him, whispered in his ear that he had brought this upon his brother, nagged at him, bit in his heart, tore at his flesh, and clouded his vision.

Kili pulled the blanket over his head and curled up like a ball, but was still far too vulnerable. Too much skin for all those pricking needles, too much soft flesh for all the teeth, too much delicate tissue for all those acrid hisses. He tried to shield his face with his arms but it was too late; the voices were already in his head, so many voices. Dís, Hrynn, the little ones. Dwalin. _You came to save him. Look what you've done._

Kíli whimpered.

And then a cool and soft hand found his shoulder and pulled the blanket from his face. A body settled down close to him, fingers caressed his shivering skin and stroked his hair. And a voice started to sing, softly, beautifully; elven words that shimmered in the darkness. After a while, Kíli dared to loosen the achingly tight grip of his arms around his shivering body, and his breathing calmed down. Tauriel's fingertips brushed his forehead as she sang, and the angry hisses in his head faded away. The warmth of her body next to his, the touch of her hand, the silken tickle of her hair engulfed him like a cocoon.

* * *

Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! = By the sea and stars!


	37. Chapter 36

**And here is part two of saving Fíli...**

* * *

 **XXXVI.**

He was all warm and sleepy when he woke up. The fire had burnt down to ember, and the room was nearly dark. Tauriel was sitting next to him, his arm lay heavy around her middle. Her face was relaxed, her eyes open. Kíli sat up, yawning, but she didn't even blink; and he suppressed a shudder. He would never get used to that, he thought. It was unnatural, uncanny, this meditative sleep while awake. A good, solid sleep was closing your eyes and snoring so loud it could shake gems from a stone wall. This was one of many things they couldn't agree on, like the necessity of green food, or of burping aloud.

They were so different, elf and dwarf. And yet they were exactly what each other needed. They had brought both their worlds together. They had made – he let his fingers trace her belly under her clothes and smiled – a dwelf.

Her lashes fluttered and her gaze focussed, turned from peaceful to worried.

"How are you feeling?"

"A lot better." His fingers glided to her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Thank you for comforting me. But you shouldn't stay awake – err, you know, whatever – because of me."

"I can rest like this. I wanted to make sure I was awake should you need me."

"If that's your criterion, you will never sleep again. I will always need you. And once the little one is born, your chances of relaxing will be close to zero anyway. You should sleep now, love. Real sleep." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her temple. "I'm going to the infirmary."

"It is in the middle of night."

He sighed. "Night, day – it doesn't make a difference to him." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I know it's most probably not going to change anything, whether I am there or not. I doubt he knows who is visiting him. But I need to see him. It's tearing me apart, being separated from him like this."

"I think he knows. I think being trapped in the shadow world is like being hidden by a veil. You can hear and you can see what is on the other side, but you cannot reach out to it. Do not lose hope. Fíli will stop dreaming whatever kind of dream holds him in the shadows, and he will find his way back to us."

He looked at her, at her sincere face, her eyes glittering in the warm darkness of their room; and there was such a warm feeling welling up in his chest, so much love and trust; he simply had to take her face in his hands and kiss her, hoping she would understand because he had no words big enough.

The infirmary was silent and dark except for the flickering light of few chandeliers. Kíli dismissed the healer from his nightly watch and sat down on the bed. Fíli looked even more dead in the twilight, and he had to force himself to lay a hand on his brother's forehead. It was too cold, too alien, made his heart beat anxiously and his hand want to recoil. He allowed his fingers to wander to Fíli's hair instead and stroke the thick strands.

"You remember when mum thought we were too old to share a room and made me sleep in the small chamber above the kitchen? I used to wait until the house was quiet and everybody was sleeping and tiptoed to your room every night. I was too afraid without you." His fingers started to braid Fíli's hair on their own. "Nothing has changed since then. I am still afraid without you. I know we are grown-up and have families of our own. I know there are no orcs under my bed. I know the night will end and a new day will be dawning. But I still cannot be without you. I know it's pathetic, but I need you, Fee. Just as your little ones need you." He sighed. "Everybody here needs you. Hrynn. Mum. Every bloody dwarf in Erebor does."

He looked at his brother's face, that well-known, beloved face that now was impassive and limp. He watched his chest that was rising and falling almost unnoticeably with his barely perceptible breathing. He looked for any sign that Fíli was in there. If only there was a way to lift the veil Tauriel had spoken of, to reach Fíli in the shadow world. Kíli sat motionless and staring at the still form of his brother for so long that his muscles started to cramp.

He took off his boots and stretched out his legs on the bed.

"Tauriel thinks you just cannot reach us. I wish it were true. Because it would mean you wanted to come back. I am afraid that you do not want to. That you have turned your back on us. On me. That you are angry with me. Disappointed. I should have known about Katla. I should even have known about Dwoss. I made so many mistakes. Can you forgive me?"

The silence was oppressing.

Why was he doing this? There would be no answer.

He felt so tired. So terribly tired and empty. Lonely. In need of his brother. Kíli curled up next to Fíli, his face buried against Fíli's shoulder despite the chillness under the soft shirt. There was a whiff of healing herbs, of Athelas and chamomile, of the strong alcohol used to clean wounds. But underneath it was Fíli, the familiar scent of pipe weed and smoke, of leather and musk, of pears and sunshine. Kíli nuzzled closer to his brother. Why was it that Fíli always smelled of summer? Even now he smelled as if he had been outside, climbing the farmer's pear trees in Ered Luin and nicking as much fruit as he could carry. If Kíli closed his eyes and inhaled that scent, let his fingers curl in Fíli's sleeve like he had done as a dwarfling, he could pretend everything was fine.

He ignored the ache in his heart, the burning behind his eyelids. He breathed deeply and savoured the memories that the scent carried. The darkness that surrounded him now was no longer terrifying, and Kíli let himself drift into slumber.

And then the darkness slowly faded to be replaced by colours. Green. Blue. Grey. Brown. Scents tickled his nose. Grass. Earth.

Confused, Kíli blinked. He was no longer in the infirmary.

Of course, he wasn't. He was asleep and dreaming.

How could he know that he was dreaming?

Because he knew with certainty that this wasn't real, wherever this was.

Kíli looked around. He was standing on a simple, well-trodden road, lined with farm houses, meadows, trees, engulfed by a high mountain range. It looked nice. Familiar.

He blinked. It looked like Ered Luin.

He blinked again. Yes, this was the surrounding country of Ered Luin. The road to Dunland.

Of course he would be dreaming of Ered Luin. He often did, although not as vividly as this. He could feel the small stones under his feet as he walked down the sandy road that stretched out between bushes and fields and meandered between giant boulders, just as he remembered it. He had travelled it often, back in the days when Fíli and he had offered their services as scouts and escort to merchants. If he wasn't mistaken, there would be a gathering place behind the next sharp bend. And yes, there it was. Ponies were grazing, several carts were waiting to be loaded, the remains of a nightly fire were still smouldering. Kíli's heart jumped to his throat when he saw a dwarf sitting on a cart and smoking his pipe.

How could that be? He was dreaming, he reminded himself. A dream, it was just a dream. And yet…

"Fíli? Is that you?" Kíli couldn't quite get the strain out of his voice as he approached his brother.

"Kíli?" Fíli caught the pipe that had fallen from his mouth absent-mindedly with one hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. We are worried."

Fíli frowned. "Really? Why?"

"You haven't been home in a while. Mum misses you."

"Mum will be happy when I buy her supplies for the winter. My services are needed and the payment is good. There's another trek south. The merchants want me to escort them, with all the silverware and stuff. Too many orcs have been seen on the Greenway lately. I'll be back in a few moons."

"We have always done that together."

"You cannot come this time." Fíli looked at him solemnly. "You shouldn't even be here."

"Neither should you. We both should go home. Together."

"Home?" Fíli frowned. "This is Ered Luin. I am home. Or maybe I am not. I am not sure."

Kíli took another step forward. "Erebor is your home, this is where you belong."

"I don't know where I belong. I am strangely torn between going back home and taking the Greenway into the unknown. Sometimes I think I want to go even further, to leave all this behind. I am unsure what to do. Never had that before. "

"What does your heart tell you?"

"Heart?" Fíli put the pipe back between his teeth and rubbed his chest. "Dunno. Hurts."

Kíli took another, careful step forward and placed his hand on his brother's knee. As he touched the well-worn leather he felt the warmth underneath it. He had expected coldness, nothingness. A ghost. A memory. But this Fíli, sitting on the cart and now putting his rough hand on his, was real. The cold and limp one in the infirmary was just an empty shell.

He looked up at Fíli who was puffing his pipe, a slight frown on his face. "This is all so strange. I can't remember how I got here. How did you?"

"Followed you."

Fíli smiled, his eyes warm and bright. "I should have known. You always do."

He patted the withered wood next to him, and Kíli obediently climbed the cart and sat down. Fíli smoked silently, his eyes surveyed the gathering place, the mountains, the sky that started to cloud.

"The merchants are right to want me as an escort," he said eventually. "I know every stone, every tree, every bump on the road. I know from where the orcs are most likely to attack. And I know I won't have any trouble to drive them back. They are no match for me. It's money easy earned." He stroke his beard. "It is too easy. Too easy to be true."

Kíli said nothing. He watched his brother intently. Fíli had put down the pipe, is hand rested in mid-air. His eyes were still set on the surroundings.

"It's a good place, Ered Luin. It's a good job, travelling the Greenway. But something tells me, it is not right. Maybe not even real. More like a memory." He put the pipe back into his mouth and didn't notice it had gone out. "I shouldn't be here."

"No, you shouldn't."

A wind came up and tousled their hair.

Fíli sighed. "I feel a yearning sometimes. A pull. As if something was calling me away from here." He dropped his lashes and smiled, a slight flush on his cheeks. "I sometimes dream of a dam, the most beautiful you could ever imagine. She begs me to come back to her. She tells me that she loves me, that she needs me. She says I'm Amralîmé." He looked at Kíli with a mixture of sadness and embarrassment. "Stupid, huh?"

"No."

Fíli shook his head. "Most likely I will never marry. There are so few dwarrowdams, and what do I have to offer? I make a decent living. But so do many others, better in fact. I don't think I can win a lass' heart because I can wrestle down a boar with my bare hands. I'm not bad at the forge. That's about it. Not much to attract a female."

"Idiot." Kíli shoved him in the ribs and marvelled at how natural that teasing felt. "Have you got any idea how many lasses in Ered Luin alone fancy you?"

Fíli grinned. "Yeah. They think I'm Thorin's heir and may become king someday. And what is that telling about their character? That they are just as greedy and stupid as trolls. No thanks. I want someone who loves me. Someone special. Like the dam I see in my dreams."

"What if I tell you she was real? Crying her eyes out over you?"

"Skip it."

"I could show you."

Fíli swallowed. "How?"

"Come with me."

"No. Not yet. Maybe in a little while. I don't think I can leave just now." He gestured at the sky that had darkened. "Look, a storm is brewing. It is dangerous to travel in such a weather."

"Since when do you care?"

"It is my duty to watch out for my people. I have to ensure their safety, their well-being. Being king is a lot like being a father, you know. You have your hands full." He smiled. "I guess I should be grateful that my subjects don't play pranks on me like Fynn and Freya do. They are even more wicked than we were at their age." Then he frowned, aghast. "What am I talking about?"

"You remember who you are."

"A father? I might even believe that. It feels so…" He rubbed his chest again. "It hurts. Even so, it feels right. But King? Thorin is king."

He leapt down from the cart and ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly agitated. "Tell me, he is. Please. Tell me he made it to Erebor and sits on the throne, the raven crown on his head and the Arkenstone in his hand. Tell me, everything is good."

He looked at Kíli, and the severe weather that was brewing around them was nothing against the storm raging in his eyes.

"Kíli?" His voice was pleading.

The first raindrops fell, thick and heavy.

"He is dead," Fíli said tonelessly. "Thorin is dead."

"Yes." Kíli's voice was strangled.

"He died in battle," Fíli continued in a flat voice. "We all fought in a battle. Against orcs and goblins. And Thorin died."

Rain splattered on Fíli's face now. It looked like tears.

"Why did you make me remember that? I don't want to remember that. It hurts. It burns. How can I live with that? We took an oath to defend him with shield and body, but we didn't. I didn't. You didn't." Fíli looked up at him. "Why didn't you? I told you to. You could have saved him."

"I couldn't." Kíli's voice was hoarse.

"Because you defended me. You should have left me. It was my own fault I was injured. I made a fatal decision, I fought poorly. I should have died. I didn't deserve to be saved. Not like Thorin. You should have abandoned me."

"You are my brother. I belong with you."

Fíli's mouth twisted in a sad smile. "I said that once."

"I won't forget that. You stayed with me when I needed you most."

"Didn't make any difference."

Thunder rolled over them, and the wind tore at their hair.

"It made all the difference."

"How?" Fíli looked at him, and the wetness on his cheeks was no rain. "It wasn't me who saved you. The elf did."

"I thought I was going to die. And it was nothing like I ever imagined. It wasn't glorious, or heroic, and I was not brave. I was so scared, Fíli. But you were there, holding me, and somehow it no longer seemed such a frightening way to go. Because I knew you would stay with me till the end."

Fíli opened his mouth and shut it again. He shook his head, and his usually so lustrous golden hair fell wet and stringy over his eyes.

"You see more in me than I am."

"Maybe. But if I do, it is because you never failed me. You are my hero, my king. Always have been, always will be."

"I am no king. It should have been Thorin. He should have been King under the Mountain." Fíli's voice was barely audible in the downpour.

"No, he shouldn't." Kíli took a deep breath and balled his fists. What he was about to do felt like betrayal. It was the truth, nonetheless. "He was our uncle, and a good leader. We always trusted him to do the right thing, and he always did. Until he became ensnared by Erebor's riches and the Arkenstone. On the battlefield, when he rallied dwarves, men and elves; when he stopped Azog from leaving Ravenhill; when he gave his life to buy us time – that was when he was acting like a king. He was a better king in death than in life."

Fíli stood very still. The rain was pouring down on them mercilessly now, the storm made the horses shy and the wooden carts creak. Kíli climbed down from the swaying cart and approached his brother carefully.

"Unlike you. You always care for the need of your family, your friends, your people. You always stay true. You would never betray any of us. You are the strongest and bravest dwarf I know."

Fíli shook his head. "I am not brave. I lack your courage to follow one's heart. You were the only one who openly countered Thorin. We all questioned his decision to deny help to the people of Laketown. But you were the only one who spoke it out aloud."

Kíli shrugged. He hadn't thought of that in a long time. "It just felt wrong."

"I know. But I didn't contradict Thorin. I didn't protect Bilbo."

"Yeah, you did."

"Not like I should have."

"You refused to kill him. You and Bofur helped him to get away. It was a lot more than the rest of us managed to do, we were frozen to the spot in dread. And when I was shouting at Thorin? Well, that was not helping. You tried to reason with him in private, that was a lot more sensible."

"Didn't bring him to his senses, though."

"How do you know? Something did. How do you know it wasn't you? You know how to say the right things, how to give hope. So many dwarves look up to you, admire you, love you. They listen to your judgement, they follow your ideas."

"It is so much responsibility," Fíli whispered. "So many lives that are entrusted to me. I don't know if I can do that."

"Think of it as a trek on the Greenway that you are escorting. You lead the way. All you need to do is to keep an eye on the road and watch out for possible dangers. It is the same, really."

Fíli smiled suddenly. "It's a little bigger. But I am a good escort."

"No one better."

"Will they forgive me?"

"Who? What for?"

"Everybody I disappointed. I know I have been weak. Erebor has been taken away from me, and I didn't… I didn't…"

"It was stolen from you. And everybody fought to set things right again. You, me, the dwarves of Erebor, even the mountain itself. You haven't been weak, and there is nothing to forgive. On the contrary. You called upon Erebor with the last of your strength, and she listened to you. She crushed our enemies."

"It worked?" Fìli's voice was breathless.

"Of course, it worked. Erebor has long since welcomed you as her king. Same as everybody."

"But I ran back to Ered Luin like a coward. I would have stayed here, not even remembering anything, hadn't it been for you. I would have left Hrynn. My children. What sort of a husband and father am I?"

"A good one, Fee."

"I don't know. Doesn't feel like it." Fíli's broad shoulders sagged. "I brought shame to Durin's Line."

It was a reflex more than anything. Before Kíli could even think about it, he punched is brother right in the face. And it was a good punch. His knuckles hurt mightily.

"Dammit!" Fíli covered his nose. "That hurt!"

"You deserved it. No one talks about my brother like that."

"Once a hothead, always a hothead. Should have known." Fíli palpated his nose and tried to still the bleeding with his sleeve. "That was not a bad punch for someone as skinny as you are."

"I'm a lot taller than you are."

"And a lot uglier."

"Want another one?"

"No, this one will do." Fíli smiled, despite the blood that dripped down his intricate braided moustache. "Thank you for resetting my thickheaded skull. I needed that, it seems."

"Anytime." Kíli put a hand on his brother's chest. "What does your heart say now?"

"It aches to go home. The real home."

The echo of thunder rolled down the mountainside, and the ponies bolted.

Fíli looked up at the sky. "Let's leave this place before the thunderstorm gets us."

"Agreed!" Kíli had to shout over the storm.

The wind had grown so heavy now, it felt like a solid wall in front of them. They had to lean against it to walk. A bolt of lightning struck a tree right in front of them. Another thunderbolt lightened the nearly black sky in a flash. And then the mountain began to crumble and a giant avalanche rolled down to consume anything in its wake.

"Run, you fools!" That was Gandalf's voice from out of nowhere, filling the sky above them, rumbling louder than the rolling thunder, and echoing from the mountains.

They tried, but the soil under their feet seemed like quicksand suddenly, and Kíli stumbled and would have fallen hadn't his brother caught him and yanked him upwards again. The booming noise coming from behind was nearly unbearable now. Kíli turned his head and wished in the same instant, he hadn't. The entire mountainside was coming down. It looked like a flood of stone ready to overrun and crush them. There was no way to outrun the avalanche. In less than a few heartbeats they would be buried under stone and be trapped forever.

Fíli pulled at his arm. "Don't," he panted. "Don't even think about letting it get you!"

Another lightning lit the path right in front of them, it was wide and blinding bright, and while Kíli was squinting, Fíli hesitated not even a second. The grip of his fingers around his brother's arm tightened as he jumped and dragged him along. The next instant the avalanche rolled over them. Kíli thought he saw hands that tried to catch them and drag them back into the storm and maelstrom of stone, but then they were swallowed by white light and everything went still.

Kíli gasped. His heart was beating so fast as though it wanted to burst out of his chest. He opened his eyes widely.

He was in the infirmary. And right next to him, gaping for air and jolting upright, was Fíli, his hand clutched tightly around Kíli's arm.

They looked at each other, confusion mixed with realisation and relief. And then they embraced tightly.

"Durin's beard," Fíli coaxed, "I had the strangest dream."

Kíli said nothing. He was too busy hugging his brother and marvelling at how warm and alive Fíli felt, when he suddenly had the distinct feeling of being watched. And he had a good idea by whom.

He disentangled from their embrace and looked around. And yes, there was Gandalf, leaning on his wooden staff, a twinkle in his gentle blue eyes and a smile on his face.

"Run, you fools?" Kíli glared at the wizard. "Is that your idea of helping those who need your guidance in a perilous situation?"


	38. Chapter 37

**XXXVII.**

Kíli's hand rested firmly on Tauriel's belly, his fingers spread wide apart.

"There is nothing to feel yet. It is too early." She put her hand on top of his.

"Aye, there is." He hooked his fingers around hers but let his hand rest on her abdomen. "There is a bulge. Right here."

She smiled. "That is Bombur's food. He is determined to fatten me."

"He is determined to fatten everyone, himself most of all. He nearly doubled his size since our quest. But…" He started to kiss her neck. "He wants you to be healthy and strong. You are much too thin."

She turned to look at him. "You used to like that."

"I still like it. But you need to eat for two now."

"Will you stop mothering me?"

"No."

She sighed. "Please, Kíli. Everyone is handling me with kid gloves. They bring me food all the time. They force me to sit down. They don't let me do anything! Only yesterday Bofur refused my help when he cleaned out the last debris."

"I would have punched his nose if he hadn't. You cannot carry stones, you are pregnant."

"It was merely sweeping the corridors and carrying buckets of rubble. I wasn't going to overexert myself. "

"You need to take care of yourself and the baby."

"I do. But doing nothing apart from letting Bombur stuff me with cakes and cream and cheese while everybody else is working is driving me up the trees."

"We haven't been doing nothing." He nibbled at her ear and felt her shiver. "And we can do it again. Maybe that will wear you out enough to stop you attempting to rebuild half of Erebor single-handedly."

She chuckled lightly and relaxed against his frame. "I wasn't going to. I just wanted to help. To do something."

"You have done more than enough. You rescued us, the whole bunch. Without you Fíli would have died."

"It wasn't me." Her hand pressed on her belly tenderly.

"It was the both of you. And Bombur is right to stuff you. You need to gain your strength. The High Pass will already be covered in snow. The journey to Rivendell will be strenuous. And very likely dangerous. Loads of goblins are still lurking in the Misty Mountains."

There was a definite smirk on her face. "Don't worry, I will protect you."

He hooked his leg around hers while grabbing her tighter around the waist and dragging her down with him. She struggled but couldn't help being pinned down in the cushions with Kíli on top.

He grinned. "I am not as defenceless as you might think, my smug elf."

She crossed her legs around his hips and her hand wandered over his chest and to the back of his neck. Readily he followed the pressure of her fingers and bent down to kiss her. His loose hair brushed over her naked breasts, and she sucked in a delighted breath that made his smile grow wider. And then, suddenly, her grip in his neck became a push, and she rolled him over to sit on his pelvis and smile teasingly.

"Are you sure?"

He laughed and let his limbs go limp so that he lay sprawled-out under her.

"I am your prisoner once again. Do with me as you please. I'm entirely at your service."

Her sensuous mouth twitched. "Don't worry, my cheeky dwarf. I will. We have a lot of time until the feast begins."

–––––––

"You are late." The Lady Dís frowned at her youngest son. "It is the last Durin's Day we are going to celebrate together and you missed Fíli's speech."

He kissed her on the cheek. "It will not be the last. We will be visiting. Stop wreaking your ill humour on me." He grabbed two tankards of ale from a tray and offered one to her. "And I arrived right on time for the drinking."

She clapped him on the back of his head.

"Ow. One has to set priorities. Your very words, Mother!"

Her gaze wandered to Tauriel and the elf's unusually flushed cheeks.

"Priorities," she huffed. "You should feed her instead of exhausting her. She is nothing but a bag of bones. Get her some stuffed boar and sausages, venison with gravy, extra fat cheese, potatoes with butter, honey cookies, and those sweet cakes that look like a mountain made of whipped cream."

Tauriel groaned.

"If I wanted her to look like Bombur I would have married him."

Dís opened her mouth to reprimand him, but Tauriel took the wind out of the dwarrowdam's sails.

"I am indeed a little hungry. I'll take some of the green food. Salad maybe, or vegetables. Pickles. No butter."

Kíli raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"One of the cream thingies."

Kíli grinned at his mother. "See? We're fine."

Dís looked at him, then at Tauriel and back to him. "Yes," she said. "I guess you are."

And then she did something that made Kíli choke on his beer. She patted Tauriel's arm, before she took her tankard and vanished into the crowd of singing and dancing dwarves.

"Shall I call Estel for assistance?" Tauriel's voice sounded only mildly concerned when Kíli was coughing so hard that ale came out of his nose. "He is right over there, with the Lady Undómiel."

Kíli stopped her with a wave of his hand, gasped for air, and rubbed his watering eyes.

"Let me just choke to death. He's done enough for the Line of Durin. The healers said, without him Fíli would not have fully recovered. He has a way with Athelas apparently, just like the elves."

She shook her head. "Better. He healed my injuries a lot quicker than any elven healer could have done."

"Aye," Helge agreed. The Gondorian, who approached them with a full tankard in one hand and meat on the bone in the other, tilted his head in greeting. "He tended to my wound after the fight against that orc army from the Grey Mountains. The very instant his hands touched my skin, I felt the healing set in. It was a wonder."

He looked at Strider who stood close to the raven-haired she-elf and now shyly took her hand. "It isn't called Kingsfoil for nothing," Helge murmured, a frown on his face. "Do you think that… maybe…There was something about him when he healed me… Something noble…even majestic…"

"And now you think he is of royal blood?" Kíli laughed. "Forget it, Helge. You have listened to too many stories about Thorin Oakenshield tonight."

Helge grinned with embarrassment. "I think you're right, Commander. To my credit: They are truly intriguing, those stories about the dwarven blacksmith who in truth was an exiled king."

"Yeah, I know." Kíli smiled. "Wait until the party is in full swing, the kind of stories they are going to tell then is even better."

Helge stared at the crowd that was bawling out drinking songs and hopping wildly around, shoving and head-butting each other.

"What do you mean? They are brawling already! Or is it a dance?"

Kíli chuckled. "Hard to say. A bit of both, I think. But they are only warming up, the best is yet to come. For those who can still stand, of course."

Helge shook his head perplexedly. "To think that among men, dwarves have a reputation for being restrained and grumpy all the time."

"This is the best feast I've ever been to!" Ruyak put a hand on Kíli's shoulder and the other on Helge's, spilling half of his tankard over him. "Dwarves really know how to party! I love it!"

He gave them a happy punch and spilled the rest of his tankard on Helge's tunic, before he dived into the mass of dancers again.

"He certainly feels at home." Helge lifted the soaked part of his tunic that was dripping with ale. "I wouldn't be surprised if he offered his service to Erebor."

"I think Dwalin likes him well enough to take him into our forces. They are head-butting."

Helge tried to wring out his tunic. "Ruyak may fit in here, but the rest of us? Are you sure you don't want us to accompany you to Rivendell, Commander? We could ensure your safety on your journey."

"We can look out for ourselves," Tauriel said mildly. "Besides, we will be travelling with Strider and the Lady Undómiel, that should be safe enough. But thank you again for your offer."

"Hasn't King Bain asked you to join his forces?"

Helge sighed and gave up on his ruined shirt. "He has indeed. To be part of Dales' army would be a great honour for me and the men. It is a good army, he is paying well; and Dale is a beautiful city to live in. We just thought that, maybe, we could stay with you a little longer. At least travel with you one last time."

Kíli shook his head. "Our journey together is over. I intend to lead a peaceful life from now on. No more fighting and orc hunting, if I can help it. The scariest thing I am planning to do in the future will be the changing of diapers. You are good soldiers, Helge, and Bain is a good king. You will both benefit from that arrangement."

"Yes, Commander." Helge's voice sounded strangely raw. "Thank you. For everything. May the sacred tree blossom for you."

"No, thank you. It was an honour to fight at your side. May the stone under your feet remain steady at all times."

They gripped each other's forearms and embraced quickly, before Helge walked away, tugging clumsily at his wet shirt again in an ill-covered attempt to hide how shaken he was.

Kíli sighed. "Damn. The farewells have started. I had hoped we could celebrate tonight, and be sad at heart tomorrow."

"Do you regret your decision?" Tauriel's eyes were dark with concern. "We don't have to leave. Everybody is trying to be really nice to me. I can manage here."

"We are leaving for Rivendell tomorrow, just as we planned to. I want you to be among elves until the baby is born. Just in case."

"Everything will be fine. You know what the Lady Undómiel said."

He nodded and interlaced their fingers. "I know. And I know we have to do this. We travel to Rivendell first and then we are going to find a place that is just for us. A new beginning."

"You are leaving a lot behind. Family, friends."

"Which gives me a lot of reasons to visit. And…" He gestured to the little dwarfling who was running up to them now, black braids flying. "The same is true for you. The little one is totally infatuated with you."

Tauriel scooped Freya up in her arms. The dwarfling snuggled into the mass of hair immediately and giggled delightedly while whispering something into the elf's ear. The usually so alert elleth, always prepared to fight, always controlled, softened visibly when the dwarfling wrapped her little arms around her neck. He had never seen her like this, not even around him. There was a glow on her face and a smile on her lips that made him ridiculously happy. And he would do anything to keep it that way.

Kíli rounded the wild mass of dancers, grabbed another tankard from a servant's tray and looked around in the Main Hall that Bofur had rebuilt in record time. The Throne Hall was a different matter, but eventually Erebor would be her old self again. The dancers were swaying in a wild rhythm and occasionally tugging at each other's beards affectionally. Tankards – and quite a few heads – were slammed against each other. Stories about great deeds in battle were exchanged, songs were sung, and lengthy jokes were told. Bifur was talking rapidly and gesturing wildly, and Gandalf, who seemed to listen intently, laughed heartily. Bofur had climbed the shoulders of a giant statue, waved his hat about and sang his favourite song about the man in the moon, to which Bombur clapped the rhythm whenever he was not stuffing sausages into his mouth. Ruyak, Kíli realised with a grin, was dancing with a dwarrowdam in a way that most likely would have to lead to a marriage. Berenor stood at the other side of the hall and lifted his ale in salute when his eyes met Kíli's. The Mirkwood smith's gaze drifted over to Tauriel, who still was cradling Freya, and he smiled. Kíli returned the smile and his heart clenched. Another friend he was going to miss. But he knew with absolute certainty that they had to leave. As much as Erebor meant to him, as happy as he was to see her full of life and laughter again; the Lonely Mountain was not his home. And Tauriel's even less. Their home was the roads and rivers, the plains and marshes, the woods and mountains; it was all the places they ever wanted to see; it was as large as Middle Earth and as small as the rune stone in his pocket. Their home was with each other.

Kíli looked at the party crowd again and felt happiness dissipate the wistfulness. Dwarves drinking and celebrating this heavily with men and elves? That had not happened since the Second Age. He thought about Katla all of a sudden. She had been one of his closest friends. Would things have turned out differently if she had joined Thorin's company? If she had been fighting alongside men and elves at the Battle of the Lonely Mountain? His uncle had turned her down, just as he had turned down Gimli. Both of them had been far too young for such a dangerous journey. In consequence they had both grown up in the relative secludedness of the Blue Mountains. Ered Luin had dealings with men, but the dwarves mostly kept to their own. There was no mingling with other races, not like it was common in Erebor now. As much as he liked Gimli, Kíli could not imagine his cousin becoming friends with elves.

This, he thought happily, while he looked at the party crowd where a food fight was in full swing, was so much better. Dwarves, men and elves were celebrating together, although the wounds were still healing and trust had to be regained.

Berenor threw one of the cream cakes with the accurateness of an elf and hit Dwalin right in the face, just when the old warrior, face flushed with ale and dancing, had been about to put his arm around the Lady Dís' waist. Now Dwalin was wiping whipped cream from his moustache, and roaring with anger, and going after a shrieking Dori while Berenor was watching, his face a mask of indifference. Bofur nearly toppled off the statue's shoulders in a laughing fit. Everybody had a good time tonight.

Only one was missing.

Kíli put his tankard down and left the hall.

The air was cold and smelled of rain, when he stepped out on the rock-hewn parapet high above the Main Gate. Solitary yellow leaves danced on the wind before sweeping over grey stone and coming to rest on the giant sculptures that were guarding Erebor's walls. Kíli pulled the fur coat tighter around his shoulders and walked along the parapet until he detected the lone figure looking at the horizon.

His brother didn't turn around when he stepped at his side.

"You remember the last time we were out here together?" Fíli asked. "It was long after the Battle, but we were still wrapped in so many bandages that we looked like parcels. I feel like one now." He tugged at his tunic under which the dressing covering his chest and back could be seen. „Do we always have to battle and bleed for what is ours?"

Kíli shrugged. "Tradition. All our forefathers are praised for their deeds and lost limbs in battle. You remember the song about Bairic Betteraxe who chopped off thirty-two orcs' heads with his iron hand and put them on a pile only to bowl them with a troll's head?"

Fíli grinned. "We used to like that one."

"Yeah."

"Before."

"Yeah."

Fíli looked at the Grey Mountains that were partly hidden by dark clouds.

"Thak might already be back in Ered Mithrin by now. It was a good thing that you persuaded me not to kill Dwoss. Bring the traitor back to the Grey Mountains, expose the Elders and their dealings with Sauron, that is way better. Do you think Thak will succeed and free his colony?"

"With the aid of Erebor's soldiers that are accompanying him, yes. He had a lot of followers back home who didn't want to be ruled by orcs any longer. That was the reason they put him in the dungeons."

"I always thought those wicked dwarves in league with Morgoth were nothing but a myth. A scare story for little dwarflings."

"They still are."

"I don't know. Sometimes I fear there is too much evil in this world."

"There will always be those who make a stand. Like Thak. Like you."

"There are many who despise the way I lead our people."

"You brought peace to these lands. Not even the traitor Dwoss could change that. They trust you. And that goes not only for the dwarves of Erebor. Bain never forgot what you did back in Laketown, how you defended his sisters against orcs. How you provided him with everything that was needed to rebuilt Dale. He came to our aid immediately. Even Thranduil remained loyal to you."

Fíli shrugged. "We need each other if we want to live in peace."

"The Darkness is not defeated yet. Sauron will rise again."

"We will be ready."

They stood in silence for a while. The wind played with their hair and made the beads in Fíli's blond mane jingle.

"How am I going to do this without you?" He suddenly asked. "How shall I rule Erebor without you?"

"Easily, I imagine. No one will call you an ass in public any more."

The braided beard twitched under Fíli's involuntary grin.

"Maybe someone should. I need you to help me find my way."

"Nah. You are the one with the visions and the smart mind."

"Don't know about that. Without you I would probably still be hiding. I am not always sure what to do. I want the best for Erebor, but not every decision I make is a good one. How can I be a good king when I am so full of flaws?"

"You couldn't be a good king if you weren't." Kíli put his arm around his brother. "Only Mithril is perfect, brother, we have to strive and struggle."

Fíli's smile was warm. "When did you grow up?"

Kíli grinned. "Had to happen some time."

"You are doing the right thing, leaving Erebor for a life of your own. But promise me you will take care of yourself? Of Tauriel? Of your child?"

"Three times yes."

"You will come back to visit us?"

"Of course I will."

"Good. The thought of being separated from you is making me edgy."

"We will never be separated, nadad."

Fíli looked up, a warm light in his eyes. "You are right. We won't." He put a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "You promise to think before you plunge head-deep into some dangerous adventure? No harebrained schemes, no reckle…" Fíli stopped in mid-sentence and grinned suddenly. "Ah, sod it. Just promise me to be happy."

"Can do that. Easily."

His brother closed his arms around him and hugged him tight.

"By Durin's fucking beard, I will miss you."

Kíli buried his face in his brother's hair and returned the embrace with so much force that his arms ached. Not to mention his heart.

"Miss you too, nadad."

He sniffed and wiped away some tears. And when he saw Fíli rub his eyes with the back of his hand, he laughed. Dwarves just loved to cry.

"Everything will be fine, trust me."

Fíli smiled. "Always."

With a croak a shiny, black bird landed next to them on the parapet. It shook its almost blue feathers and eyed them inquisitively. Then the bird hopped closer to Fíli and bobbed its head in a bow.

"The ravens are returning to Erebor," Kíli said softly.

 **The End**

* * *

 **A/N:** It is done! I am overjoyed and sad at the same time. It was a hell of a journey, and you made it worthwhile. Thank you everybody for going on this quest with me. Loyalty, honour, a willing heart, and the generosity to ignore misspellings… What else did I need?

A special thanks first of all to my beta who was always reading my story and encouraging me to write, when she was drowning in writing and translating academic papers, not to mention working on her own novel.

And special thanks to all those who stayed with the story, took part in our heroes' fates and reviewed so much. Your reflections, ideas and hints really helped me going: Sorrelkaren, Celebrisilweth, syeern, deviant84, kasmira36, yshxf, helciakuras, ValarenofGondor, enchantedstarlight, Aranel Mereneth, guest44, Jpezcandy, salwyn77, ck, TaurielKili1976, MiyonzMae, ForeverJelly, reach4theskye, Lumiya1989, briongloid fiodoir, donnajoy, Margaritasc, Rattusrex, Filisgirl, miss-helia, Blue, Kloklo, TMI Fairy, Paula, guest reader, Hobbyt, Legbiter, butterbum and the many guest reviewers. You rock.

And because it is so hard to let go – there will be an epilogue.

:)


	39. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

When Thak and Erebor's soldiers arrive at the Grey Mountains, they encounter only a small number of orcs that is still lurking in Ered Mithrin. Most of them have been killed in the fire and the fight following Kíli's rescue, others didn't survive the attack on Erebor. Without Ulrug to lead them, the rest of the black breed is easily defeated and driven out of Ered Mithrin, deeper into the Grey Mountains. Those dwarrows in league with Sauron are imprisoned. The traitor Dwoss, however, manages to escape after feigning his own death with one of his potions. One of the soldiers sees him run and follows him until Dwoss vanishes in one of the large caves even the orcs avoid. The soldier does not go after him. The cave, he can tell from the smell, is a dragon's lair.

...

Balin and his men reach Drimrill Dale before Durin's Day. Standing on the edge of the very valley where his father was slaughtered alongside King Thrór and Prince Frerin, and thousands of brave dwarven warriors, Balin, son of Fundin, realises that the memories are still too painful. Instead of entering Khazad-dûm through the Gate of Azanulbizar, Balin decides to lead his men around the cursed valley and to enter the lost kingdom in the only fashion that seems appropriate. Three days later, 1000 dwarven soldiers and miners march through Moria's Main Gate. Ori, the scribe, nearly trips over his own feet several times because he cannot help but write about this glorious moment at the same time he is entering the sacred halls of his forefathers. He has a strong feeling that here and now history is being made.

Meanwhile, deep underground, woken by the broken spell upon the gates, a blackness stirs that is both shadow and flame. It listens to the sound of dwarven boots stomping through the mines and tunnels, to dwarven steel driving the orcs out of the ancient kingdom, to dwarven songs of victory and joy. The Balrog of Morgoth raises its head and waits.

...

Kíli and Tauriel leave Erebor the morning after Durin's Day in the company of the Lady Undómiel and Strider. They have come as far as the Carrock and are enjoying the hospitality of Beorn, before they realise they have been followed all the time. And because there is not much that is more intimidating than the skin-changer glowering at someone, Kíli clothes his face in an easy smile and pats Lucky's head and agrees to take the dog with them to Rivendell. Later, when they cross the Misty Mountains in snow that is so high it comes up to his hip, and he is carrying not only Tauriel's baggage along with his own (although she is complaining that she is pregnant and not feeble) but the dog as well, he claims it is solely because the bloody animal would slow them down otherwise. His travel-companions wisely do not mention the fact that he is wrapping the dog in his fur cloak and feeding him half of his ration every day.

They make it over the High Pass without incident and arrive at Rivendell exhausted but well. Tauriel and Kíli gladly accept Lord Elrond's offer to stay at Imladris as long as they wish. The elf Lindir, however, feels the need to point out to the dwarf that throwing food or sewing together a person's robes is no fitting behaviour for a father-to-be and that the big fountain at the lower level is not a bath but a sacred place that needs to be treated with respect. And no, the use of soap isn't regarded as such. Lucky earns himself a juicy bone that evening, when he lifts his leg at Lindir's foot.

...

Gondor's tenth division takes up the offer and joins King Bain's army. In no time Helge and Nimir are promoted commanders and rank among Bain's most trusted officers. The men settle down at Dale. With the exception of Ruyak, who, after waking up with the worst hangover of his entire life, finds himself betrothed to a dwarrowdam. But since she has a softly tickling beard, and curves that make him all cross-eyed, and a display of sharp knifes in her cleavage, he is sure he could have ended up much worse. Especially after a party like this.

...

Dís and Dwalin never marry. And if someone sees the old warrior sneak out of the Kingmother's quarters at dawn, nobody will ever mention it. The Lady Dís as well as the bald Weapon's Master are expert axe throwers after all.

...

After being in labour for nearly nineteen hours and cursing the day she captured Kíli, Tauriel gives birth to a baby girl with red hair, dark eyes, tiny sideburns and pointy ears. Kíli instantly falls in love with his daughter and forgets all about the pain in his fingers that his wife broke during a particular painful contraction.

They name their daughter Naevys, an elven expression for something that is impossible: The sun that meets the stars. Naevys brings a smile to everybody's face from the day she is born. When they return to Erebor to present their daughter to Fíli and Hrynn, the royal couple cannot stop tickling her belly and delight in the fact that their soon-to-be-born fourth child will have a cousin roughly its own age. The Lady Dís carries Naevys around for three whole days and only returns the youngest Princess of Durin's Line to her parents when Freya threatens to bite her in the leg.

When Tauriel and Kíli pay a visit to the Woodland Realm, even the usually distant elven king Thranduil cannot help but take the baby into his arms and pat her on the back. But if anybody thinks that strange, it is nothing compared to the small chuckle that escapes Legolas when the infant burps and spits up upon the elegant king's shoulder. Kíli is so shocked by the elven prince's outburst that he drops his goblet and spills red Dorwinion wine all over the finely woven silver rugs, raising a snarky remark from Thranduil that now he knows where that child got her bad manners from.

...

And what of the raven haired elf maiden and the Dúnedain ranger she is in love with? After journeying with the unlikeliest of lovers for quite a while, the formerly so very reluctant man now walks with her under the full moon and decorates the path to her chambers with flower petals. He even is bold enough to hold her hand despite the stern gaze of her father. When Kíli asks Lord Elrond what exactly bothers him about Strider, his answer is enigmatic at best: „The weakness of his blood is that which he fears the most. The light of the Evenstar will fade and die in the darkness of his doubts." Whether the High elf hears Kíli mutter „Give your daughter some more credit, pointy-ear", we will never know. Shortly after the birth of Naevys, Strider leaves Imladris to continue his travels. Kíli and Tauriel often wonder what has become of him.

...

Under Fíli's reign, Erebor continues to prosper and to cooperate closely not only with Ered Luin, the Iron Hills, the Red Mountains and Ered Mithrin, but with men and elves as well. Other races now are a common sight at the Lonely Mountain. Human and sometimes even elven apprentices are learning their craft from dwarven masters, others have taken up service with Erebor's army. After frequent visits to Mirkwood and the towns of Dale and New Esgaroth, dwarven stonemasons start to fashion columns that look like giant trees and to build terraces and towers in Erebor's underground halls that resemble human cities.

...

When the War of the Ring is raging, Kíli and Tauriel return to the Lonely Mountain to fight at Fíli's side once again. Dwarves, men and elves unite against Easterlings and orc armies. Not one enemy breaks through their lines.

Thak and the dwarrows from the Grey Mountains join the fight. They drive the remaining orcs and dragons from the mountains and reclaim the rest of their ancestors' halls and mines in the Grey Mountains.

...

Shortly after the war, Kíli and Tauriel are surprised to get an invitation from Gondor's new king to attend his wedding as honoured guests. And so, nearly thirty years after they had to flee from Minas Tirith, Kíli and Tauriel set foot in the White City again. No other than Faramir, newly appointed Steward of Gondor, is the first to greet them, a proud shield maiden of Rohan at his side. He takes them to Lord Elrond, who smiles and to everybody's surprise embraces Kíli heartily, even before his daughter flings herself into the dwarf's arms. How the Lady Undómiel, who sweetly asks to be called Arwen, happens to be the long lost king's future spouse, Kíli fails to understand. And when the King of Gondor bows low to him and tells the dwarf not to kneel before him, Kíli's mouth falls open. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir and King of Gondor, is no other than the strider Lord Elrond's daughter has been in love with all along. Kíli, who still tries to figure out all those mind-boggling pieces of information in his spinning head, stutters something unintelligible and is saved only by Tauriel elbowing him painfully in the ribs, which makes him wince and shut up.

After that, it is only a minor surprise that Gimli attends the wedding in the company of Legolas, who easily agrees to any drinking game the dwarves challenge him into.

While Gimli, Fíli, Kíli and the other dwarrows nurse their hangovers and bruised egos, Legolas teaches little Naevys how to surf down all the stairs of Minas Tirith's seven rings on a dwarven shield that he has won in one of those drinking competitions. That conjures such a bright smile on Tauriel's face that Kíli refrains from telling his wife that the snotty princeling still is nothing but a silly show-off. Contrary to his daughter, of course, who looks way better on a dwarven shield than Mirkwood's pretty boy ever could.

...

Berenor, the elven weapon smith, continues to work for Erebor. Not even sixty years have passed when his eyes fall upon the Princess Freya who has begun her warrior's training. Although Berenor knows she is way out of his league, he cannot help but falling in love the instant he sees her shooting her bow while riding her pony through the wild forest of Mirkwood at killing pace. It takes years of silent admiration and an angry raven sent by Freya to pick the elf's ear, until he finally finds the courage to ask the question.

After much lamenting and asking his wife what in the name of Mahal he has done to deserve it that once again his own flesh and blood has fallen for pointy ears, Fíli agrees to marry them. What right has he to deny his only daughter's bliss when his own brother has already done the outrageous and is still ridiculously happy? He ignores Thranduil's sneering at the obvious lack of pride in Durin's Line that they like to choose a lowly Silvan elf for a spouse.

It is an utter coincidence that at the wedding, Fíli, King under the Mountain, places Thranduil at the same table as Wanda Warthroes. The old dwarven warrior is constantly picking at her huge and very hairy wart while devouring anything that has got blueberries in it. Eventually the Mirkwood King feels so queasy, he has to stop eating. Which is a shame, really, because Bombur has outdone himself.

...

Kíli and Tauriel take up their habit of travelling again. At the age of 108, Naevys leaves her parents and ventures out into the world on her own – much too early, as her father points out. But Naevys, who is as stubborn as three dwarves negotiating over a pile of gems, hugs him, and promises him not to be reckless (which makes both her parents laugh) and to send ravens, and to watch out for orcs until he stops grumbling and dries his tears, grooms her pony, and tends to her bow and sword. She takes the rune-stone he gives her and kisses him good-bye, before embracing her mother. She whispers in Tauriel's ear to please take care of Ada, who still stands erect and broad-shouldered, his nearly white hair cascading down his back, his dark eyes, surrounded by a net of laughter lines, twinkling as they always did, but who can no longer walk without a crutch nowadays and is always supporting his right arm when he thinks nobody is watching.

Some time after they attend the coronation of Eldarion, son of Aragorn and Arwen, at Minas Tirith, Kíli's and Tauriel's trace is lost. But since there is no record of either one's death, we can safely assume they live happily ever after.


End file.
